r 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


M 

2.0 

1.8 


1-4    IIIIII.6 


V] 


% 


'c-1 


'?A 


'>^J^  ^ 


A 


>  > 


/A 


vV^ 


7 


# 


40^ 


:\ 


\ 


^<b 


V 


;\ 


>  X 
>.^^ 


k 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographicaily  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


D 


D 


D 
D 
D 
D 
D 

D 


Coloured  covers^ 
Couverture  de  couleur 


I      I    Covers  damaged/ 


Couverture  endommagde 


Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 


I      I    Cover  title  missing/ 


D 


Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleur 


Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relid  avec  d'autres  documents 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr6e  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  intdrieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  ajoutdes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  film^es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppldmentaires; 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'ii  lui  a  6t6  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cet  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-dtre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dans  la  methods  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiqu6s  ci-dessous. 

□    Coloured  pages/ 
Pages  de  couleur 

□    Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 

□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculdes 


/ 


D 
D 


Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d6color6es,  tachet^es  ou  piqu6es 


I      I    Pages  detached/ 


Pages  d6tach6es 

Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

Quality  of  prir 

Qualit^  indgale  de  ['impression 

Includes  supplementary  materii 
Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


I      I    Showthrough/ 

r~~|    Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I      I    Includes  supplementary  material/ 


Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  film6es  d  nouveau  de  fapon  d 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


r~/|    This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

h/.}    Ce  document  est  film6  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquA  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

>/ 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generosity  of: 

Saint  John  Regional  Library 


L'exemplaire  film6  fut  reproduit  grSce  d  la 
g6n6rosit6  de: 

Saint  John  Regional  Library 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  w.lh  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — »>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6t6  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettetd  de  l'exemplaire  filmd,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprim^e  sont  filmds  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  en.preinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  selon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  film6s  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
emprainte. 

Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — »■  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichd,  il  est  filmd  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  sn  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

6 

6 

Over  the  Falls.     Page  37. 


e  j 

i 


;*'«':" 

•^ 


FIRE   IN   THE 


^: 


Pnh;; 


woom.  ^" 


BY 


PROF.  JAMES   DE   MILLE, 

AUTHOR  OF  TIIK  "  B.  O.  W.  C,"  "  THK    BOYS  OF  GRAND  PRB 
SCHOOL,"  "  LOST  IN   THIC   FOG,"   "AMONG  THK 
BRIGANDS,"  ETC.  • 


nA^Viifttnwrtf' 


_i 


ILL  US  TRATED. 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SIIEI'Alll)    rUHlJSIIEUS 


,1  i|in,»«jMJMif''l""i^' "''^  '^    j»v--**!^v.'«i"i^.i"i  V  ^»-*i  11  PI  I  ntyii  iv^f^p^jmnnvfr 


Entered,  accordiiiR  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871, 
I5Y   LEE  AND  SHEl'AUD, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at   Washin^tos 


I      I 


■f^rr — 'i"i"MW'  ■»  ■"  '■'.■'•^^.miJ' ,  I '  W"**^*-'"  ■-»"iilP'-'""l  w  II"  1 1  ■   ^•rn^^wwiM>^"fl<i"P^"W" 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

PAQI 

0/1  a  FmV.  —  ^  Fascination  and  a  Temptation.  -«•  (S'c- 
cret  Plans.  —  An  exciting  Letter.  —  Where's  old  Sol- 
omon?—  Arrival  of  an  Opportunity. —  The  Opportu- 
nity seized.  —  A  hazardous  Adventure.  —  The  Island 
in  the  Falls *        ...     11 

II. 

The  Island  in  the  Falls.  —  A  Discovery  of  a  startling 
Kind.  —  The  sullen  Roar.  — A  mad  Risk.  —  The  Strug- 
gle for  Life.  —  On  the  Verge  of  Ruin.  —  A  last  Efort. 

—  Over  the  Falls.  —  Ingulfed  and  drawn  down  by  the 
Vojiex.  —  Where  is  Pat  f 26 

III. 

Bart  off  on  an  Expedition.  —  The  Search  after  Solomon. 

—  The  aged  Toiler.  —  The  Flaming  Fury.  —  The  bran- 
dished Broomstick.  —  Collapse  of  Solomon.  —  Extinc- 
tion of  the  Flaming  Fury.  —  Solomon  vanishes.  —  Ter- 
rible Tidings.  —  An  anxious  Search.  —  Despair.    .        .    39 

& 


b  CONTENTS. 

IV. 

At  the  Mercy  of  the  Tide.  —  Ears  deafened.  —  Eyes  blinded. 

—  A  fresh  Struggle  for  Life.  —  The  Roar  of  the  Steam 
Whistle.  —  Where  are  we?—  Pat  explores.  —A  desolate 

Abode.  —  The   falling     Tides.  —  Without    Food    and 
Shelter, 54 

V. 

Flight  of  Solomon.  —  In  Hiding.  —  Solomon  is  himself 
again.  —  Up  the  River.  —  Through  the  Country.  —  A 
long  Drive.  —An  Indian  Village.  —  An  Indian  Guide. 

—  Preparing  for  the  Expedition 68 

VI. 

A  long  Drive,  and  a  long  Walk.  —  The  wild  Woods.  —  An 
Encampment.  —  The  blazing  Fire.  —  Lo  !  the  poor  In- 
dian. —  The  Wolf  and  the  Watch-dog.  —  The  Spring  of 
the  Wild  Beast.  —  Solomon  to  the  Rescue,  —  A  Fight  and 
a  Flight 81 

VII. 

/      ing  the  Night.—  On  Gucrd.  —  The  watchful  Sentinel, 

—  Plans.  —  Through  the  Woods.  —  The  winding  River. 

—  Fishing.  —  The  overcast  Sky.  —  Arrival  of  Pat  with 
startling  Tidings.  —  A  useless  Search 96 

VIII. 

The  Loss  of  Phil.  —  Deep   Gloom  and  heavy   Grief.  —  A 
.    Night    of    Terror,  —  The    torrid    Atmosphere.  —  The 


t 


CONTENTS.  7 

Smell  of  Smoke.  —  Thx  Darkness  that  might  be  felt.  — 
Morning  brings  Relief.  —  The  Search.  —  The  Rock  and 
the  Precipice  by  the  Riverside.  —  The  Track  of  Phil.  — 
Following  the  Trail.— The  Trail  lost.  — Persevering 
Search.  —  The  End  of  the  Day 109 

IX. 

Lost.  —  Deliberations.  —  Trying  to  regain  the  Course.— 
The  Smoke  of  the  Burning.  —  The  stagnant  Air.  — 
Onward.  —  An  Opening  in  the  Forest.  —  Hope  and  En- 
thusiasm.—  A  Rush  forward. 123 

X. 

The  Opening.  — The  Sea,  the  Sea,  the  open  Sea.— The 
Priest.— The  Promise  of  Help.  —  Pat  takes  a  Walk,  and 
I  •  passes  a  mysterious  Building.-  He  takes  a  Swim.— 
Return  of  Pat.  —  A  terrific  Discovery.  —  Pat  in  a 
Panic.  —  The  Scene  of  Horror.  —  Smoke  and  Flame.  — 
The  Fire- glow  by  Night 137 

XI. 

Where,  O,  where  is  Phil  ?  —  The  Wanderer  in  the  Woods. 
—  Struggles  with  Difficidties  thai  always  increase.  — 
Approach  of  Night.  —  Gloom.  —  Despair.  —  Climbing 
a  Tree.  —  No  Hope.  —  Rallying  from  the  Assault.  —  A 
Midnight  Meal.  —  Overworn  Nature  seeks  Repose.  .        .  151 

XII. 

The  Wanderer  on  his  winding  Way.  —  The  Beioilderment 
of  the^  Forest.  —  Swamps    and  Bogs.  —  The  friendly 


8  CONTENTS. 

Brook.  —  Following  the  Flow  of  the  running  Water.  — 
A  pleasant  Course.  —  An  encouraging  Discovery. — 
Astray  once  more. —  lie  sinks  to  Rest.  —  The  last  Hand- 
wich 163 

XIII. 

Clouds  and  Vapors.  —  The  exhaustive  Heat.  —  Thirst.  — 
Muddy  Water.  —  The  Pangs  of  Hunger.  —  How  to 
fish.  —  The  River.  —  The  placid  Lake.  —  A  Plunge  into 
the  Water. —  The  Midday  Meal. —  The  Pine  Woods.— 
The  rocky  Cavei'n.  —  Preparing  a  NighVs  Rest.  —  The 
Evening  Repast.  —  Night  once  more 176 

XIV. 

Bai^t.  —  An  anxious  Night.  —  Suspicions.  —  Reappearance 
of  Pat.  —  The  Woes  of  Pat.  —  A  hideous  Thought.  — 
The  Leper.  —  Off  to  the  Woods.  —  Indian  File.  —  The 
Rear  Guard.  —  Defection  of  Pat.  —  He  makes  a  Circuit. 
—  «'  Hyar  !  Hyar !     You  dar  t     Whar  MasW  Bart  t "  .  189 

XV. 

Solomon  in  a  Rage.  —  Flight  of  Pat.  —  The  Explorers 
penetrate  the  Forest.  —  The  missing  Companions.  —  New 
Fears  and  Anxieties.  —  A  baffled  Search.  —  Onward.  — 
The  Recesses  of  the  Forest.  —  An  open  Space.  —  Halt !  .  201 

XVI. 

The  wide  open  Space,  —  The  terrific  Scene.  —  Arrested  and 
driven  hack.  —  New  Purposes.  —  The  Story  of  the  Great 
Fire  of  Miramichi,  and  tl,e  Ruin  wrought  in  one  tre- 
mendous Night.        . 213 


'■■i-iVV  ■■ti 


CONTENTS.  9 

XVII. 

Phil  awakes.  —  A  morning  Bath  and  a  morning  Repast. 
—  A  pleasant  Discovery.  —  Once  more  upon  the  Move.  — 
The  rough,  impenetrable  Woods.  —  The  River.  —  A  new 
Mode  of  Travel.  —  The  friendly  Log.  —  I'm  afloat,  I'm 
afloat.  —  Arrested.  —  The  secret  Place  of  Fire.        .        .  226 

XVIII. 

The  Conflagration.  —  A  dread  Alternative.  —  Forward  or 
Backward.  —  A  bold  Decision.  —  The  Hood.  —  A  terri- 
ble Venture.  —  The  red  Place  of  Flame.  —  The  Place  of 
the  fiery  Glow.  —  The  toppling  Tree.  —  A  Struggle  for 
Life.  —  The  fiery  Atmosphere  —  The  last  supreme  Mo- 
»^««< 236 

XIX. 

The  black  Place  of  Desolation.  —  Blue  Sky.  —  Open  Heav- 
ens. —  The  Glory  of  the  Sunshine.  —  Green  Hills.  —  The 
open  Sea  once  more.  —  Along  the  Road.  —  A  strange,  a 
very  strange  Encounter.  —  The  Wandering  Leper.  — 
Naaman  the  Syrian 247 

XX. 

Fish  for  Breakfast.  —  The  Cottage  and  the  Schooner.— A 

familiar   Sight.  —  The   old   Boat.  —  Sinking   in   deep 

Maters.  —  An   exciting   and   amazing   Meeting.  —  The 

Flag.  —  Bart  on  the  Road.  —  A  strange  Discovery.  —  A 

fresh  Surprise. 259 

XXI. 

Where  is  Solomon?—  The  Search.—  The  aged  Wanderer. 
—  Recognition.  —  Boating.  —  Fishing.  —  Cooking.  — 


\  I 


f 


10  CONTENTS. 

Swimming.  —  The  Preparations  for  the  Banquet.  —  The 
savory  Smell.  —  Solomon  dances  a  Breakdown  and 
makes  a  Speech,        ...  ....  272 

XXII. 

Away  from  Tracadte.  —  The  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence.  —  The 
Bay  de  Chaleur. —  The  innumerable  Fishing  Boats. — 
A  long  Harbor.  —  Shippegan.  —  The  Acadians.  —  The 
Memories  of  Grand  Pre 285 

XXIII. 

The  Story  of  an  Acadian  Exile.  —  The  Country  in  Flames. 
' —  A  dread  Discovery.  —  Pursuit.  —  Flight  over  the 
Water.  —  The  Bloodhound  Instinct.  —  Red  Sea    Waves.  299 

XXIV. 

The  American  Indian  in  a  new  Light.  —  The  false  Guide. 
—  Solomon  prepares  for  Vengeance.  —  The  Indian 
Chief.  —  Full  Explanations 315 


»     : 


FIRE  IN  THE  WOODS. 


3N«0 


I. 


071  a  Visit.  —  A  Fascination  and  a  Temptation.  — 
Secret  Plans.  —  An  exciting  Letter.  —  lllieres 
old  Solomon?  —Arrival  of  an  Opportimity.— 
The  Oiyport unity  seized.  —  A  hazardous  Adven- 
ture. ~  The  Island  in  the  Falls. 

CjJ^ART  DAMER  lived  at  St.  John,  and  on  his 
jl^  return  home  he  had  brought  with  him  his 
^^^  two  friends,  Phil  and  Pat,  to  pass  the  va- 
cation  with  him.  Solomon  had  also  accompanied 
them,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  some  relatives 
who  lived  in  the  vicinity.  Neither  Phil  nor  Pat 
had  vver  been  in  St.  John  before,  and  they  found 
the  place  full  of  attractions  of  no  common  order. 

Indeed,  it  may  safely  be  said,  that  St.  John  pos- 
sesses attractions  sufficient  to  excite  the  interest 
even  of  those  who  have  travelled  far  and  seen 
much,  and  can  lay  claim  to  far  more  experience 
than  could  possibly  have  been  possessed  by  two 
lads  like  Phil  and  Pat. 

11 


12 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


Situated  as  it  is  on  a  peninsula  between  two 
seas,  and  on  a  declivity  which  slopes  steeply  down 
on  three  sides,  its  houses  rise  one  above  another, 
and  thus  produce  an  effect  which  is  in  the  highest 
degree  imposing  to  those  ui)})roaching.  Before 
the  city  and  behind  it  two  furious  floods  pass  and 
repass,  in  one  place  tilling  up  the  broad  channel 
with  sand,  but  in  the  other  mingling  with  the  tor- 
rent of  a  mighty  river,  which,  after  flowing  for 
five  hundred  miles,  at  this  place  pours  all  its 
accumulated  waters  into  the  bay. 

All  around  the  city  are  many  striking  scenes ; 
the  sea,  with  its  tides  and  currents;  the  sky,  with 
its  clouds  and  fogs  ;  the  rocky  ledges,  the  surf- 
beaten  islands,  and  the  far-folded  headlands ;  the 
low  marshes,  and  broad  sand  flats  ;  the  bold,  rocky 
hills,  whose  summits,  rising  one  behind  another, 
fade  away  in  the  distance;  —  and  over  all  these 
an  ever-changing  atmosphere,  which  at  one  time 
veils  all  the  scene  in  thick  mists,  and  at  another 
time  gathers  up  all  its  clouds  to  lend  additional 
glories  to  the  setting  sun. 

But,  amid  all  these  objects  of  interest,  one  stands 
forth  preeminent,  and  that  is  the  river.  After 
flowing  for  many  a  mile  through  every  variety  of 
scenery,  it  at  length  approaches  its  termination, 
where,  within  the  space  of  a  few  miles,  it  gathers 
together  the  extremes  of  the  grand  and  the  beau- 
tiful. Here  it  expands  into  a  broad  lake,  and 
receives  into  itself,  by  a  wide  mouth,  another  tribu- 


-r^ 


THE   RIVER. 


13 


tary  river;  after  wliicli  it  contracts  into  narrow 
dimensions,  and  winds  its  way  between  rocky  pre- 
cipices till  it  reaches  the  subnrbs  of  the  city. 
Here  it  expands  once  more,  and  then,  flowing  on- 
ward a  little  farther,  it  comes  to  a  place  where 
towering  cliff's  rise  abru})t,  giving  signs  of  some 
primeval  convulsion  of  nature,  which  has  rent  the 
solid  rock  asunder  to  open  a  pathway  for  the 
waters.  Here,  through  a  narrow  and  gloomy 
gorge,  it  rushes  onward,  past  rocky  shores  and 
between  small  islands,  and  at  lengtli,  with  a  majes- 
tic curve,  sweeps  into  the  harbor,  and  thence  into 
the  bay. 

Now,  the  surface  of  that  bay  is  forever  changing, 
as  the  mighty  tides  ebb  and  flow,  b,nd  the  differ- 
ence between  the  extremes  of  its  elevation  is 
great.  At  low  tide  all  the  river  pours  in  foam 
and  fury  through  this  gorge,  forming  what  is 
called  the  Falls ;  at  high  tide,  on  the  contrary,  the 
outer  waters  run  swiftly  up  the  river  with  resistless 
sweep ;  while  between  tlie  two  there  is  a  time 
when  the  waters  are  so  still  that  the  most  fragile 
boat  can  pass  with  perfect  safety  in  any  direction. 

The  scene  is  magnificent.  At  the  Ixiginning 
of  the  Falls  the  river  grows  narrow,  sliowing  two 
rocky  islets  on  one  side,  and  a  promontory  on  the 
other.  Then,  after  widening  again,  it  once  more 
contracts,  and  lowering  cliffs  of  solid  rock  arise 
on  either  side.  Acn)ss  this  abyss  a  suspension 
bridge  has  been  flung,  from  which  there  is  a  view 


14  FIRE  IN  THE  WOODS. 

full  of  grandeur.  Here  at  high  tide  the  river 
may  be  seen  rushing  up ;  at  low  tide  it  may  be 
seen  pouring  down  with  the  fury  of  a  cataract; 
wliile  at  intermediate  tide  may  be  seen  steamers, 
and  schooners,  and  scows,  and  timber-rafts,  and 
sail-boats,  and  row-boats,  all  passing  through  in 
perfect  safety. 

After  exhausting  the  possibilities  of  the  place, 
Phil  and  Pat  both  settled  down  upon  the  Falls  as 
the  one  grand  distinguishing  feature  of  the  city,  at 
least  in  their  estimation.  Bart's  house  was  not 
very  far  away,  and  so  they  used  to  come  here 
often;  sometimes  sitting  on  the  suspension  bridge, 
and  watching  the  flood  below,  or  the  vessels  pass- 
ing underneath,  or  the  foam  of  the  thunderous 
cataract ;  at  other  times  scaling  the  sides  of  the 
precipice,  and  working  their  way  down  to  the  edge 
of  the  river,  so  as  to  look  up  from  thence  and 
watch  the  suspension  bridge  overhead,  with  the 
people  and  carriages  that  passed  to  and  fro.  Thus 
the  whole  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Falls  became 
at  length  perfectly  familiar  to  them,  and  there  was 
not  a  single  spot  worth  seeing  which  they  had  not 
thoroughly  explored. 

When  I  say  this,  I  must  make  an  exception. 
There  were  some  spots  which  yet  baffled  them. 
These  were  two  islands  which  lay  in  the  channel 
of  the  river,  and,  when  the  flood  poured  down,  re- 
ceived its  shock  upon  their  rocky  borders.  These 
islands  lay  out  of  the  reach  of  the  boys,  and  for 


THE   ISLAND. 


15 


tnai  reason  became  particularly  attractive  to  them. 
An  island  is  always  an  object  of  unutterable 
fascination  to  a  boy ;  but  these  became  still  more 
fascinating,  for  the  reason  tiiat  they  seemed  to  be 
more  inaccessible  than  was  generally  the  case. 
At  the  same  time  they  were  very  provokingly 
near.  From  one  shore  the  distance  was  so  slignt 
that  it  seemed  almost  possible  to  jump  across. 
But  the  possibility  was  only  apparent ;  the  island 
was  in  reality  inaccessible,  except  by  boat,  at  cer- 
tain times  of  tide,  and  so  Phil  and  Pat  only  found 
themselves  tantalized  by  the  sight  of  an  object 
apparently  so  near,  yet  in  reality  so  remote. 

Each  of  the  boys  began  at  length  to  be  filled 
with  a  consuming  desire  to  reach  the*  islands,  and 
each  soon  began  to  think  over  some  ])lan  by  which 
their  purpose  might  be  effected.  Of  the  two,  Pat 
was  the  more  eager ;  in  fact,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
him,  it  is  not  at  all  likely  that  Piiil  would  ever 
have  felt  the  desire  so  strongly ;  but  Pat  seemed 
to  be  completely  carried  away  by  this  one  feeling; 
and  his  excitement  was  gradually  connnunicated 
to  Phil,  till  at  last  one  was  as  eager  as  the  other  to 
reach  those  inviting  shores. 

As  for  Bart,  he  was  in  a  different  position 
altogether.  He  had  been  taken  there  once,  and 
consequently  knew  all  about  them ;  and  thus  there 
was  no  mystery  to  attract  him.  In  the  second 
place,  his  father  liad  forl)idden  him,  most  posi- 
tively and  most  solemnly,  from  ever  having  any* 


16 


FIRE    IN   THE    WOODS. 


thing  whatever  to  do  with  any  boat  above  the 
Falls.  The  prohibition  was  one  which  was  so  final, 
that  the  idea  of  disobeying  it  never  for  one  mO' 
ment  entered  into  his  head  ;  and  when  Pat  had 
mentioned  liis  wish  to  visit  the  islands,  he  had  re* 
fused  so  positively,  and  had  warned  him  against 
it  so  earnestly,  that  Pat  from  that  moment  never 
alluded  to  it  again  in  his  presence.  In  this  mat- 
ter Phil  was  influenced  by  Pat,  rather  than  by 
Bart ;  that  is  to  say,  he  listened  rather  to  Pat's  en- 
thusiastic  descriptions  of  those  mysterious  islands 
than  to  the  somewhat  unsatisfactory  waining  which 
Bart  had  given;  and  the  only  result  of  that  warn- 
ing was,  that  he  and  Pat  began  to  devise  in  secret 
some  plan  by  which  they  might  achieve  their 
desire. 

The  result  of  this  was,  that  Pat  volunteered  to 
go  forth  and  make  some  inquiries  about  boats. 
There  were  plenty  of  boats  above  the  Falls,  and  it 
was  easy  enough  to  procure  one.  The  only  dif- 
ficulty was,  that  people  might  not  be  willing  to 
let  one  to  inexperienced  boys.  But  Pat  was  fully 
a  match  for  this  emergency.  lie  was  ready  with 
any  amount  of  professions  as  to  his  ability  to  man- 
age any  boat ;  and  indeed  in  such  professions  he 
was  not  deceitful,  for  ho  could  handle  an  oar  as 
well  as  any  boy  of  his  age.  And  so  his  offer  was 
accepted  very  readily  by  Phil ;  and  the  conse- 
quence was,  that  Pat  took  occasion  to  make  his 
search,  and  made  it  with  such  success  that  he  at 


^         «■-(!' 


PAT   FINDS   A    BOAT. 


17 


length  found  a  boat  every  way  adapted  to  their 
purpose.    Ho  did  this,  too,  quite  unknown  to  Bart. 

Tiiis  mu8t  not  be  considered  as  a  violation  of 
confidence,  or  anything  of  that  sort ;  I'or  Pat  was, 
after  all,  not  capable  of  direct  de  ^eit.  The  fact 
was,  he  regarded  Bart's  objection  as  due  to  his 
father's  command,  and  that  command  he  did  not 
consider  as  at  all  binding  either  upon  himself  or 
upon  Phil.  He  did  not  suppose  tliat  there  was 
any  actual  danger,  nor  did  he  stop  to  think  that 
Mr.  Darner's  prohibition  miglit  be  founded  upon 
wise  precautions  and  a  knowledge  of  the  perils 
of  the  place ;  for,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  though 
this  fact  was  unknown  to  Pat,  the  Falls  are 
sulKciently  dangerous  to  cause  the'  loss  of  one 
life  per  year  on  an  average,  besides  many  acci- 
dents which  do  not  result  in  an  actual  loss  of  life ; 
and  it  was  this  knowledge  of  the  dangers  attend- 
a^it  upon  boating  in  these  waters  which  had  led 
to  Mr.  Darner's  prohibition. 

Thus  Pat  went  innocently  and  confidently  to 
work,  and  obtained  a  boat ;  and  Phil  entered  with 
the  utmost  eagerness  into  Pat's  plan.  Bart's 
strong  objections  and  earnest  warnings  had,  how- 
ever, produced  sufficient  effect  upon  tliem  to  make 
them  anxious  to  keep  their  plan  a  secret  from  him, 
and  to  carry  it  into  execution  at  some  time  when 
he  might  not  be  with  them.  But  tins  was  not 
very  easy,  for  Bart  was  always  with  one  or  both 
of  them;  and  so,  even  after  they  had  found  a 
2 


18  FIRE   IN    THE   WOODS. 

bout,  it  still  seemed  as  diflicult  as  ever  to  make  use 
of  it. 

At  length  an  event  occurred  which  gave  them 
the  long  desired  opportunity  of  making  use  of  the 
boat  in  a  voyage  to  tiie  islands. 

This  event  was  the  receipt  by  Bart  of  a  letter 
from  Bruce  Haw  don.     It  was  as  follows:  — 

"  Dear  old  Bart  :  How  are  you,  and  how  have 
you  been  enjoying  yourself?  Are  you  aware  that 
four  weeks  have  passed,  and  that  our  holidays  will 
soon  be  over?  I've  got  several  things  to  say,  and 
others  to  propose,  and  therefore  I  take  my  pen  in 
hand  on  the  present  occasion. 

"  First  of  all,  Tom  is  with  us,  and  has  been  all 
along.  A  week  after  we  got  home,  he  received  a 
letter  from  his  father,  who  told  him  that  he  was 
going  to  England  with  his  mother,  and  that  he 
might  stay  with  us,  and  go  back  to  school  with 
us.  Well,  Tom  was  a  little  disappointed,  but  not 
so  very  much,  after  all.  So  he's  been  here  ever 
since.  The  next  thing  I  have  to  tell  you  is,  the 
arrival  here  of  a  mutual  friend  and  benefactor. 
You  see  it  happened  this  way :  The  other  day  I 
M^as  down  on  one  of  the  wharves,  when  I  was 
struck  by  a  familiar-looking  craft,  and  on  going 
nearer  it  became  still  more  familiar.  So  I  jumped 
on  board  in  a  state  of  high  excitement,  and  put  my 
head  into  the  opening  of  a  very  familiar  cabin, 
when  suddenly  it  encountered  another  head  that 


BRUCE   WRITES   A   LETTER.  ID 

was  pnttirig  itself  out.  And  wlio  do  you  think  it 
was?  I  won't  keep  you  in  suspense.  It  was 
Captain  Corbet !  Yes,  it  w"as  liiniself,  as  meek, 
as  mild,  as  paternal,  and  as  vbnerable  as  ever.  He 
came  here  after  oats.  With  him  is  Mr.  Wade, 
whose  '  ole  'oman's  name  '  he  still  insists  is  Gipson, 
and  he  also  asserts  that  we  won't  find  many  of  that 
name  in  this  country. 

"  Well,  now  I  come  to  the  point  of  riy  letter. 
We  have  persuaded  the  venerable  Corbet  to  give 
up  oats  for  the  present,  and  charter  his  ship  to  us. 
We  have  organized  a  campaign  around  the  Bay  de 
Chaleur.  We  are  going  to  operate  by  sea  and 
land.  Now,  what  do  you  say  to  it  ?  Will  you 
come?  Is  Phil  with  you,  and  Pat?*  Have  you 
got  Solomon?  What  do  )'ou  say?  Can  you  resist? 
Can  you  keep  away  when  you  hear  that  the  Ante- 
lope is  once  more  upon  the  waters,  and  that  the 
flag  of  the  B.  0.  W.  C.  is  again  floating  from  her 
masthead  ?     Resist  ?     You  know  you  can't. 

"  And  so  I  merely  remark  that  we  shall  be  at 
Shippegan,  on  the  Bay  de  Chaleur,  on  the  15th 
of  August.  This  gives  you  two  or  three  weeks 
to  reach  us.  We  shall  expect  you.  Bring  Phil. 
Bring  Pat.  Bring  Solomon.  Without  the  glow 
of  his  beloved  countenance  shining  upon  us  as  it 
beams  over  the  cooking-stove,  no  expedition  is 
worth  having. 

"  We  start  in  a  few  days.  You  need  not  answer, 
as  there  will  not  be  time  to  get  your  letter.     W© 


M 


"r»»  r  Hfip"— «",p 


20  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

all   count  upon    meeting    you   at   Sliippegan    on 
August  15. 

"  The  venerable  Corbet  sends  his  blessing. 
«  Yours  in  B.  0.  W.  C. 

"  Bruce  Rawdon." 

This  letter  created  the  wildest  outburst  of  joy 
that  is  possible  to  the  eflervcscing  spirits  of  enthu- 
siastic boys.  It  came  at  the  very  time  when  the 
holidays  were  beginning  to  grow  a  little  dull ;  when 
all  its  first  pleasures  had  been  exhausted,  and  no 
new  ones  remained.  Coming  thus,  it  brought  the 
prospect  of  new  excitement,  and  met  with  but  one 
response.  Bart  eagerly  appealed  to  his  father,  and 
received  his  permission  to  meet  his  friends.  Then 
followed  long  discussions  as  to  their  journey  to  the 
Bay  de  Chaleur ;  and  first  and  most  important 
among  the  preliminaries  of  their  journey  was 
the  necessity  of  preparing  Solomon  for  what  was 
proposed. 

Solomon  1 

But  where  was  Solomon? 

Shortly  after  their  arrival,  he  had  taken  his  de- 
parture, and  had  not  been  seen  since.  Bart,  how- 
ever, knew  where  he  had  gone,  and  supposed  that 
he  might  be  there  yet ;  so  he  proposed  that  they 
should  all  drive  off  in  search  of  Solomon  early  on 
the  following  day. 

There  soon  arose  a  difficulty,  however,  which 
interfered  with  this.     The  place  was  fifteen  miles 


1 


BART   SEEKS   SOLOMON.  21 

awn,y,  and  Mr.  Darner  would  not  trust  the  horse  to 
Bart  alone.  It"  the  servant  drove,  there  would  not 
be  room  for  them  all,  and  so  one,  at  least,  would 
have  to  stay  behind.  Pat  and  Phil  each  offered  to 
stay  ;  and  as  it  would  be  lonely  for  only  one  to 
remain,  it  was  finally  decided  that  both  should 
stay,  while  Bart  went  off  alone  to  search  after  the 
Grand  Panjandrum. 

This  arrangement  was  the  very  thing  that  was 
most  satisfactory  to  Phil  and  Pat;  and  thus  chance 
threw  into  their  way  the  very  opportunity  for 
which  they  had  been  waiting  so  eagerly  and 
impatiently. 

Early  on  the   following  morning  Bart  started; 
while  Phil   and   Pat  waited  a  little  while,  in  order 
^  to  have  a  convenient  time  for   setting  forth  upon 

their  own  enterprise.  The  sky  was  clear,  and  the 
sun  was  bright  overhead  ;  but  half  way  down  the 
harbor  there  were  heavy  fog  clouds,  which  increased 
until  all  the  distance  was  concealed  from  view. 
But  as  these  fogs  belonged  to  the  bay,  and  did  not 
affect  the  land,  they  had  no  anxiety  about  their 
excursion,  since  it  was  to  take  place  on  the 
river. 

They  waited  leisurely  about  the  house  for  an 
hour  after  breakfast,  and  at  length  left  without 
saying  anything  to  anybody,  and  went  at  once  to 
the  Falls.  As  they  came  in  sight  of  the  river, 
they  looked  with  eager  eyes  over  its  surface  to 
see  whether  the  time  was  a  suitable  one  for  their 


22  FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 

enterprise.  Tlielr  first  glance  was  liiglily  satisfac- 
tory. As  far  as  tliey  could  judge,  it  seemed  the 
very  best  time  that  there  could  be  to  make  the 
attempt.  The  water  was  quite  smooth,  and  the 
stream  was  moving  along  rather  slowly.  Upon 
reaching  the  suspension  bridge,  they  stood  still 
and  looked  down.  As  they  stood  there,  they  saw 
several  wood  boats  approaching  them  from  the 
upper  part  of  the  river.  They  came  along  slowly, 
and  with  as  little  motion  of  any  kind  as  though 
they  were  in  the  placid  waters  farther  up.  The 
two  boys  watched  them  as  they  passed  under  the 
bridge,  and  then  followed  them  with  their  eyes 
as  they  half  sailed,  half  drifted,  onward  to  the 
harbor. 

This  sight  greatly  encouraged  them,  and  there 
seemed  now  not  the  slightest  doubt  of  the  perfect 
feasibility  of  their  enterprise.  Without  any  fur- 
ther delay,  therefore,  they  at  once  set  out  for  the 
place  where  the  boat  was  kept  that  Pat  had 
engaged. 

The  Falls  are  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  above 
the  suspension  bridge.  At  this  place,  as  has  been 
said,  the  river  contracts,  and  is  hemmed  in  be- 
tween the  projecting  precipice  of  a  rocky  promon- 
tory on  one  side,  and  a  small,  shaggy,  wooded 
island  on  the  other.  Between  these  it  pours  its 
flood,  which  alternates  between  the  swift  influx  of 
the  sea-water  at  high  tide,  and  the  swift,  thunder- 
ous outpour  of  low  tide,   when  the   river  flings 


I 


THE   START    FOU   THE    ISLAND. 


23 


I 


I 


itself  in  wrath  and  foam  down  a  declivity  of  rocks 
that  form  its  bed.  Above  this  place  there  is  a 
wide  expanse,  and  on  the  upper  side  of  the 
promontory  is  a  cove  which  affords  an  excellent 
shelter  for  boats,  rafts,  and  schooners.  It  was  in 
this  cove  that  their  boat  was  kept,  and  towards  this 
they  now  directed  their  steps  as  fast  as  possible. 

On  reaching  the  place,  they  ibund  the  boat  afloat, 
with  its  oars  inside,  and  iastened  by  the  painter  to 
the  wharf  Here  they  stopped  for  a  short  time, 
and  again  looked  forth  over  the  surface  of  the 
water. 

Immediately  in  front  it  was  as  smooth  as  a  mill- 
pond,  and  farther  out  it  appeared  to  be  quite  as 
calm.  The  two  islands  to  which  they  wished  to 
go  were  out  there,  full  before  them,  on  the  other 
sid(i  of  the  river,  yet  not  so  far  away  but  that 
they  could  be  reached  by  a  moderate  effort.  A 
brief  survey  satisfied  both  of  them ;  and  without 
waiting  any  longer,  they  cast  off  the  line,  and 
rowed  away  towards  the  islands. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour's  vigorous  pulling  brought 
them  well  out  of  the  cove,  and  soon  they  reached 
the  channel  of  the  river.  Here  the  water  was 
still  smooth ;  but  they  noticed  that  the  current 
was  much  stronger  than  they  had  expected  to 
find  it.  After  all,  however,  there  was  as  yet  no 
very  great  force  in  it ;  and  so  they  pulled  on.  But 
the  current  made  some  chango  in  their  plans ;  for, 
whereas  they  had  at  first  intended  to  go  to  the 


24 


PIRE   IN   THE    WOODS. 


upper  island,  they  now  found  the  sweep  of  the 
tide  dragginp^  them  so  far  out  of  their  course,  that 
they  decided  to  land  upon  the  lower  one. 

This  one  lay  nearest  now.  They  were  between 
the  two,  and  the  rocky  shore  of  the  island  was 
close  by.  It  was  the  part  of  the  island  which  lay 
farthest  up  stream.  They  thought  it  best  to  visit 
this  one  first,  then  the  other,  after  which  they 
could  return  to  the  shore,  or  continue  their  explo- 
rations in  other  directions,  as  the  fancy  might 
seize  them. 

With  these  intentions,  they  turned  the  boat's 
head  towards  the  island,  and  in  a  short  time  stepped 
out  upon  the  rocky  beach. 


^^^r^m 


ON   THE   ISLAND. 


25 


II. 


T/ie  Island  in  the  Falls.  —  A  Discovery  of  a  star- 
tling  Kind.  —  The  sullen  Hoar.  — A  mad  liisL  — 
The  Struggle  f^r  Life.—  On  the  Verge  of  liuin. 
— ^  last  Effort.— Over  the  Falls.  —Ingulfed  and 
drawn  down  by  the  Vortex.  —  Where  is  Pat ! 

'HE  boys  secured  their  boat  to   the  rocka 
and  then  clambered  up  the  bank  to  the  top 
of  the  island.     Arriving  there,,  they  found 
but  little  to  be  seen.     The  island  was  of  very  small 
dimensions,  and  the  thick  woods  that  covered  it 
made  it  impossible  to  gain  any  view  of  the  whole 
scene  around.     They  crossed  to  the  lower  side, 
and  came  back ;  after  which  they  sat  down  on  the 
edge  of  the  bank,  just  above  the  boat,  and  looked 
out.      They   could  see  up  the  river  from  here  — 
the  wide  cove,  the  rocky  shores,  the  saw-mills,  the 
rafts,  the  scows,  the  tugboats,  the  wood  boats,' and 
the  river  steamers.     Now  that  they  were  on  the 
island,    there  was  certainly  not   much  to  reward 
them,  except  this  view ;  and   even   this  was  not 
equal  to  that  which  might  be  had  from  the  sus- 
pension  bridge.     But,   then,  they  were  not  alto- 


A 


26 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


gether  destitnto  of  a  reward.  The  island  was 
small  and  insignificant ;  but,  tlicn,  it  was  an  island, 
and  that  was  something.  Besides,  their  ])osition 
here  meant  that  they  had  achieved  their  enter- 
prise ;  and  the  consciousness  of  success  was  of 
itself  a  snlHcient  reward. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  J'hil,  "  why  no  more  vessels  go 
through  the  Falls  —  " 

''  Tlirough  the  Falls,  is  it?"  said  Pat.  *'  (),  sure  it's 
just  because  they  don't  Wiint  to;  an  that's  all,  so  it  is." 

Alter  some  more  conversation,  they  began  to 
grow  tired  of  the  island  ;  and  since  they  had  ex- 
hausted all  tlie  pleasuie  that  a  landing  upon  it, 
combined  with  the  consciousness  of  success,  could 
afford,  there  remained  nothing  moie  to  do  but  to 
complete  their  enterprise  by  effeciiiig  a  landing 
upon  the  other  island  also. 

This  one  lay  farther  up  the  stream ;  and  as  they 
launched  their  boat  and  rowed  towards  it,  they 
became  at  once  sensible  of  a  great  increase  in  the 
difficulty  of  their  task.  With  their  utmost  efforts 
their  progress  was  very  slow,  and  it  took  far  longer 
to  reach  it  than  it  had  taken  to  come  from  the 
shore  to  the  first  island.  At  length,  however,  they 
reached  it,  and  secured  the  boat. 

"  Ye  see,"  said  Pat,  who  always  was  ready  to 
account  for  everything,  —  "ye  see  we've  had  the 
tide  dead  agin  us  this  time.  Whin  we  crossed 
the  river  it  was  on'y  on  one  side.  Whin  we  go 
back,  it'll  be  all  fair  iind  aisy,  for  we'll  have  it  on 
one  side  agin;  and  that's  how  it  is." 


i 


THE   SULLEN    ROAR. 


27 


: 
■ 


Tlioy  now  l)egan  to  explore  this  second  island. 
It  was  larger  than  the  other,  but  did  not  seem  so 
larpje.  As  it  was  free  I'roni  woods,  its  small  ex- 
tent was  perce])til)le  at  a  glance,  which  was  not 
the  case  with  the  other.  The  absence  of  woods 
made  it  also  even  less  interesting.  But  the  boys 
were  not  at  all  exacting  ;  and  as  there  was  nothing 
in  particular  to  see  on  the  island,  they  naturally 
turned  their  eyes  to  the  scene  that  lay  beyond. 
This  scene  was  now  very  extensive.  They  could 
look  around  in  every  direction,  and  enjoy  an  unob- 
structed view.  U])  the  river  it  was  the  same  as 
it  had  been  before  —  the  same  assemblage  of 
rocky  hills,  and  schooners,  and  steamers,  and  rafts: 
but  down  the  river  a  grander  view  unfolded  itself 
bell. re  their  eyes. 

The  river  there  ran  on  till  it  seemed  terminated 
by  a  wall  of  rocks,  at  the  foot  of  which  a  steam 
saw-mill  was  clattering  and  howling.  On  each 
side  of  the  water  arose  perpendicular  cliifs,  and 
between  these  was  the  suspension  bridge,  whose 
fntil  pathway  was  sustained  by  cables  that  passed 
over  granite;  towers  at  the  edge  of  the  precipice, 
and  overhung  a  tremendous  gulf  of  treacherous 
waters. 

Suddenly  Phil  put  his  hand  on  Pat's  shoulder. 
Pat  turned,  and  saw  him  looking  anxiously  out 
over  the  water  and  pointing. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Pat. 

"  I  Avon(l(M-  what  makes  it  so  white  over  there," 
said  Phil,  in  an  anxious  tone. 


28 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


He  was  pointing  to  the  water  between  the 
island  and  the  promontory.  Here  the  surface  was 
agitated,  and  foam  was  emerging  and  floating  on 
in  ever-increasing  masses,  while  a  deep,  dull  roar 
began  to  be  slowly  perceptil)le  to  their  ears. 

"  What  is  it?  "  repeated  Pat,  after  looking  for  a 
little  while  in  silence  at  the  place  where  Phil  had 
pointed.  "  What  is  it  ?  "  he  repeated,  after  a  little 
hesitation.  Then  his  hesitation  vanished,  and  in 
his  usual  confident  way,  he  proceeded  to  account 
for  the  foam. 

"  Sure  an  it's  the  foam,"  said  he,  "  an  that's 
what  it  is." 

"  But  there  wasn't  any  foam  a  little  while  ago," 
said  Phil. 

"Deed,  thin,  an  I  wor  jist  thinkin  that  same," 
said  Pat.  in  a  candid  tone. 

The  boys  stood  now  for  a  little  while  in  silence. 
The  low,  dull  roar  increased  as  they  listened,  and 
excited  very  singular  feelings  in  the  minds  of 
both. 

"The  tide  is  certainly  stronger,"  said  Phil  —  "a 
good  deal  stronger.  I  wonder  if —  if —  it's  too 
strong  for  us." 

"  Niver  a  bit,"  said  Pat,  shaking  off  his  uneasi- 
ness. "  Sure  an  we'll  have  no  throuble.  We're 
jist  a  good  bit  above  the  Falls  —  so  we  are  —  an 
there's  no  danger — not  the  laist  in  life." 

Again  they  stopped,  and  looked,  and  listened. 

And  now  the  foam  had  increased,  the  dull  roar 


I 


A   DEAD    RISK. 


29 


I 


was  perceptibly  louder,  and  its  deep  cadence 
reverberated  in  their  inmost  hearts,  exciting  dark 
apprehensions. 

"  Deed  an  I'll  jist  tell  ye  what  it  is,"  cried  Pat, 
suddenly.  *'  It's  no  use  standin  here  all  day ;  we 
must  hurry  out  of  this.'' 

"  But  can  we  now  ?  "  asked  Phil,  uneasily. 

"  Sure  an  why  not  ?  " 

"  The  tide  — it's  so  strong." 

"  Sure  an  that's  nothin,"  said  Pat.  "  All  we've 
got  to  do  is  to  head  the  boat  up  strarae,  half  up 
an  half  across,  an  we'll  slide  over  that  way  in  spite 
of  the  tide,  so  we  will." 

Pat's  confident  tone  reassured  Phil,  and  as  Pat 
set  off  quickly  to  the  boat,  he  followed  without  a 
word  of  further  objection.  Under  the  impression 
that  there  was  now  not  a  moment's  time  to  lose, 
they  pushed  the  boat  off;  and  seizing  the  oars, 
they  began  pulling  with  all  their  strength,  Pat 
taking  the  stroke  oar,  and  striving  to  head  her  in 
that  mvsterious  direction  which  he  had  described 

%■' 

a  short  time  ago.  For  a  few  minutes  they  exerted 
all  their  strengtii ;  and  both  boys,  as  they  pulled, 
kept  turning  their  horids,  so  as  to  see  the  shore, 
which  they  wished  to  gain.  Those  f(^\v  minutes 
served  to  put  a  considerable  distance  between 
them  and  the  island  which  they  had  left.  But  the 
interval  was  not  exactly  the  kind  which  they 
wished  to  see  between  them  and  it.  It  was  evi- 
dent  that  their  progress   forward  was  not  very 


30 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


4 


great,  but  that  at  the  same  time  tlieir  progress 
down  the  stream  was  fearfully  rapid.  And  that 
stream  was  setting  full  towards  the  Falls. 

Phil  noticed  this  first,  and  his  cry  aroused  Pat, 
who  was  still  too  much  interested  in  watching  his 
destination  to  regard  his  actual  situation.  But 
that  situation,  as  the  two  boys  looked  around  upon 
it,  was  calculated  to  administer  a  shock  to  the 
strongest  nerves,  and  quicken  the  action  of  the 
stoutest  heart. 

The  river  current  was  running  down  at  such  a 
rate  of  speed  that  their  efforts  to  counteract  it 
while  crossing  were  quite  unavailing.  Its  force 
had  already  dragged  them  down  stream  about  half 
way  between  the  two  islands,  while  the  actual 
progress  which  they  had  made  towards  their  aes- 
tination  was  small.  Their  downward  drift  had 
brought  them  nearer  to  the  Falls,  and  as  they  took 
their  hasty  look  around,  they  were  aware  again  of 
that  low,  sullen  roar  which  they  had  heard  on  the 
island ;  but  now  that  roar  was  deeper  and  nearer, 
and  the  low,  droning  sound  of  the  agitated  waters 
struck  more  menacingly  upon  their  ears. 

At  this  moment  there  was  still  one  chance,  and 
ore  only.  That  was  to  head  the  boat  back  for  the 
island  which  they  had  just  left.  Had  they  done 
so,  and  rowed  for  their  lives,  there  was  a  possibili- 
ty of  emerging  yet  from  the  clutch  of  tl^at  hun- 
gry current,  which  grew  more  and  more  tenacious 
as  they  advanced,  and  from  which  escape  was  only 


-.. 


I 

1 


•; 


THE   BOAT   IN   DANGER. 


31 


possible  by  a  retreat.  But  at  that  moment  Pat 
did  not  fully  realize  the  danger  that  impended. 
Ho  was  quite  cool,  and  the  mistake  that  he  made 
arose  from  an  error  in  judgment,  rather  than  from 
anything  like  panic.  He  had  only  the  idea  of 
resisting  the  current,  and  was  unable  as  yet  to 
give  up  his  purpose  of  returning  to  the  boat's 
wharf.  So  he  headed  the  boat  up  stream  in  such 
a  way  that  their  own  force  should  be  brought  as 
much  as  possible  against  the  current,  and  yet  se- 
cure to  it  a  slight  advance. 

They  now  pulled,  as  before,  in  silence,  using  all 
their  strength.  The  head  of  the  boat  was  almost 
up  stream,  nnd  as  they  pulled  they  could  see  all 
that  could  be  seen  of  the  danger  below  them.  For 
about  five  minutes  they  thus  struggled,  and  at  the 
end  of  that  time  there  began  to  force  itself  into 
the  minds  of  both  of  them  the  dread  conviction 
that  the  strength  of  the  current  was  too  great  for 
their  efforts.  Pat  saw  this  first,  and,  seeing  this, 
made  a  final  relinquishment  of  his  efforts  to  cross, 
and  put  the  boat's  head  straight  up  stream,  so  as 
to  make  all  their  efforts  tell  against  the  tide  itself. 
But  by  that  time  they  had  brought  themselves  to 
where  the  tide  was  strongest,  and  that  tide  was 
growing  stronger  and  stronger  every  minute.  This 
they  both  fe.iw  and  felt;  and  they  knew  enough  of 
the  nature  of  the  Falls  to  understand  now  the  mis- 
take that  they  had  made.  For  they  had  crossed 
to  the  islands  when  the  tide  was  falling,  and,  iu 


32 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


tlieir  attempt  to  return,  had  been  caught  by  a 
tide  that  had  been  increasing  in  force  ever  since 
they  had  last  crossed  it,  and  was  still  increasing 
and  directing  all  its  might  down  towards  the  Falls. 

Their  efforts  to  resist  the  tide  were  overpow- 
ered. The  river  was  gaining;  their  strength  was 
failing.  One  last,  faint  hope  remained  —  to  turn 
the  boat  back,  to  pull  towards  the  islands  ;  it  might 
yet  be  possible  by  strenuous  effort  to  drag  the 
boat  forth  from  the  clutch  of  the  mighty  waters. 
The  lower  island  was  as  yet  below  them,  on  their 
left ;  if  they  could  only  bring  the  boat  out  of  the 
middle  of  the  stream,  they  might  reach  it. 

For  the  last  time,  then,  Pat  changed  the  direc- 
tion of  the  boat,  turning  it  but  slightly,  however, 
just  enough  to  aim  at  the  u])per  island.  Then 
again,  as  before,  they  put  forth  their  last  remain- 
ing energies.  With  feverish  anxiety  they  fixed 
tlieir  eyes  upon  one  or  two  objects  on  the  land,  to 
watch  whether  the  boat  was  losing  or  gaining. 
That  it  was  still  being  drawn  down  by  the  tide 
was  at  once  certain  ;  but  they  yet  had  a  hope  that 
their  advance  towards  the  islands  mi  ht  serve  to 
bring  them  tliere  before  it  was  too  late.  And  now 
they  had  fairly  reached  the  crisis  of  this  tremen- 
dous struggle.  Rousing  up  the  very  last  of  their 
exhausted  strength,  they  exerted  themselves  with 
the  convulsive  energies  of  despair,  working  in 
silence,  with  eyes  fixed  on  the  shore. 

In  vain  1 


A   VATN  STRUGGLE. 


33 


They  saw  themselves  drawn  down  in  a  line  with 
the  lower  island,  and  there,  tree  by  tree,  and  rock 
by  rock,  they  saw  that  island  slipping  past  them ; 
while  the  distance  between  them  and  it  had  been 
lessened  so  slightly  that  it  aflbrded  no  prospect 
whatever  of  their  being  able  to  attain  it.  At 
length  the  last  vestige  of  hope  died  out.  The 
howling,  wrathful  vortex  was  just  before  them,  and 
now  the  islands  were  forgotten,  and  all  their  efforts 
were  directed  towards  saving  themselves  as  long 
as  possible  from  that  fate  which  they  felt  was  in- 
evitable. 

Of  the  two,  Pat  was  the  least  affected.  Phil 
was  pale,  and  sat  with  his  eyes  glaring  at  the 
flood,  straining  himself  at  the  oars  with  all  his 
strength,  his  brows  contracted,  his  lips  parted,  his 
breath  coming  and  going  in  quick,  short  gasps. 
As  for  Pat,  the  ruddy  color  of  his  honest  but 
freckled  Irish  face  remained  unchanged ;  and 
though  he  was  working  with  all  his  might,  he  as 
yet  showed  no  signs  of  any  very  extreme  ex- 
haustion; for  his  muscles  were  harder,  and  his 
frame  more  inured  to  labor,  than  the  slender  limbs 
and  lighter  frame  of  his  companion.  Nor  did  he 
gasp  or  sob,  nor  were  his  brows  contracted,  nor 
was  there  any  other  expression  on  his  face  than 
that  same  jovial,  healthy,  and  withal  rather  impu- 
dent self-confidence  wliich  it  usually  wore. 

Yet,  if  anything  could  have  reduced  Pat  to  de- 
3 


i 


imp  i^M^^^^i^ 


"^^^l^^W** 


34 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


spair  it  was  the  sight  that  now  appeared  immedi- 
ately before  him. 

The  boat  had  been  dragged  for  some  distance 
out  of  the  middle  of  the  stream,  and  was  nearer 
the  island  than  it  had  been,  though  still  out  of 
reach.  The  tide  was  fearfully  strong.  At  every 
desperate  pull  the  boat  would  stand  still ;  but  be- 
tween the  strokes  the  tide  would  bear  it  down. 
Thus  their  efforts  only  served  now  to  stop  the  boat 
for  a  few  moments  at  every  stroke,  without  in  any 
way  ennabling  them  to  elude  their  fate. 

The  Falls  were  close  at  hand — just  in  front. 

These  Falls  were  not,  however,  a  thunderous 
cataract,  though  at  the  lowest  stage  of  the  tide, 
their  furious  surges,  as  they  sweep  over  the  rock- 
strewn  descent  of  the  river  bed,  would  be,  per- 
haps, even  more  dangerous  than  a  cataract  itself 
But  now  they  were  not  at  their  most  furious  stage. 
Still,  as  the  boys  gazed  there,  they  saw  enough  to 
appall  them. 

All  across  was  a  white  line  of  foam.  Immedi- 
ately in  front,  the  water  seemed  to  come  in  con- 
tact with  some  hidden  reef,  for  it  lifted  itself  up 
in  a  heap,  and,  rounding  over,  tumbled  in  thunder 
on  the  other  side.  It  was  towards  this  that  they 
were  drifting.  This  was  sufficiently  formidable, 
but  where  the  foam  tossed  and  the  boiling  waters 
seethed  in  a  long  flood  of  white,  it  seemed  equally 
80 ;  and  thus  even  if  Pat  luid  been  inclined  to  make 
a  choice  of  some  particular  place  to  direct  the  boat, 


A    LAST   CHANCE. 


35 


he  would  not  have  been  able  to  select  one,  since 
all  places  appeared  equally  repellent.  The  fact 
was,  however,  Pat  had  no  such  ideas,  but  was 
thinking  of  some  other  way  of  encountering  the 
coming  fate. 

There,  then,  full  before  them,  was  the  long  hne 
of  boiling  breakers;  there  was  that  upheaving 
mass  ol  water  rounding  itself  over  the  sunken 
ledge,  The  hiss  of  the  foam  was  in  their  ears, 
while  beneath  it  was  the  gloomy  menace  of  the' 
roar  of  many  waters. 

"  Phil,"  cried  Pat,  "  can  you  swim?  " 

"  A  little,"  said  Phil. 

''  It's  our  last  chance.     Will  ye  do  what  I  tell 
ye  ?  " 

''  Yes." 

"  Take  off  yer  coat,  howld  on  to  yer  oar,  and 
jump  whin  I  give  the  word." 

•MVhat!"  cried  Phil;  '' stop  rowing ?  Whv  we'll 
be  lost  — "  o  J , 

''  Lost,  is  it  ?  We're  sure  to  be  that  —  row  —  or 
no  row  —  so  do  as  I  say  —  will  ye  ?  " 

Phil  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  still  tugged 
at  his  oar,  for  neither  of  them  had  stopped  during 
this  conversation.  In  that  moment  of  extremest 
peril  there  was  no  time  to  be  taken  up  in  delib- 
erating.  He  had  either  to  consent  to  Pat's  prop- 
osition, or  refuse,  and  that  at  once. 

"  The  boat'Il  upset,"  cried  Pat,  "  sure.  Yon 
jump  out  wid  me  whin  I  give  the  word.    But  ye'Il 


«H»« 


36  FIRE   TN   THE   WOODS. 

have  to  take  off  yer  coat  first.  Yer  bound  to 
get  a  duckin,  ony  way,  an  ye'd  better  do  as  I 
say." 

"  I'll  do  it,"  cried  Phil,  suddenly  and  decidedly. 

"  Aff  wid  yer  coat,  thin,"  cried  Pat. 

Both  boys  flung  down  their  oars,  and  whipped 
off  their  coats  in  an  instant. 

The  boat  was  dragged  now,  without  any  further 
resistance,  straight  towards  the  Falls. 

''  Grab  howld  of"  yer  oar,"  cried  Pat,  quickly. 
"Stand  up,  an' jump  whin  I  give  the  word  —  ony 
mind,  whin  ye  do  jump,  jump  for'ard  as  fur  as  ye 
can." 

"  Yes,"  said  Phil,  quietly. 

The  two  boys  now  stood  up,  each  grasping  an 
oar,  and  watching  the  water  before  them.  The  boat 
drifted  down  —  nearer  and  nearer  !  Phil's  heart 
throbbed  fast  in  the  suspense  of  that  dread  mo- 
ment, but  Pat  stood  cool,  collected,  with  his  sharp, 
eager  glance  watching  for  the  right  time  to  jump. 

And  now  that  mighty  mass  of  water,  that  lifted 
itself  up  in  a  heap,  as  it  rose  and  rounded  itself 
over  the  sunken  ledge,  grasped  the  boat,  and  raised 
it  on  high  in  its  tremendous  embrace,  and  impelled 
it  forward.  For  a  moment  the  boat  seemed  to  lin- 
ger there  hesitating.  Then  it  trembled  in  every 
fibre.  Then  it  slowly  turned  round,  till  its  broad 
side  was  presented  to  the  waters  below.  Then 
one  side  was  slowly  drawn  down  under  the  water, 
while  the  other  side  rose  up.  Behind  it  a  wall  of 
water  rushed. 


i- 

-1 


L 


f 


OVER   THE   FALLS. 


37 


I 


Suddenly  Pat  gave  a  loud  yell  — 

''  Jump ! " 

Phil  was  already  standing  with  the  oar  poised 
in  one  hand,  and  the  other  hand  outstretched,  wait- 
ing- lor  Pat's  word.  Every  nerve,  every  sinew,  was 
on  the  alert,  and  before  the  whole  word  was  fairly 
spoken,  and  before  Pat  himself  had  sprung.  Phi) 
leaped  forward.  His  feet  touched  the  water  first, 
He  went  down.  A  tremendous  grasp  seemed  to 
seize  upon  him,  dragging  him  downward,  and  ever 
downward.  He  gave  himself  up  for  lost.  In  the 
whirl  of  his  senses,  he  seemed  sinking  into  fathom- 
less abysses,  and  in  his  ears  there  were  the  howling 
and  the  abhorrent  uproar,  and  the  deafening  thun- 
der-peal of  a  thousand  cataracts.  Then,  in  the 
midst  of  all  this,  another  gras[)  clutched  him,  and 
dragged  him  swiftly  forward,  and  whirled  him 
round  and  round.  Then  he  seemed  to  be  thrown 
upward  by  the  resistless  upheaval  of  some  mighty 
mass  beneath  him,  and  then  suddenly  he  shot  forth, 
out  of  the  darkness  and  the  u[)roar  of  the  in- 
gulfing waters,  into  the  u})per  air  and  the  glad 
light  of  day. 

Clutching  his  oar,  which  he  had  held  all  this  time 
with  the  grasp  of  a  drowning  man,  he  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  looked  all  around.  Above  him  was 
the  blue  sky ;  farther  on,  across  the  sky,  hung  the 
suspension  bridge  ;  behind  him  was  the  howl  of 
the  Charybdis  that  he  had  just  escaped. 

Where  was  Pat? 


^^  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


As  he  thonglit  of  this,  an  involuntary  shudder 
passed  throu-Ii  him.  Ho  himself  had  escaped, 
and  he  now  felt  comparatively  safe,  for  the  oar  was 
of  immense  assistance,  and  with  the  help  of  this 
it  needed  only  a  slight  effort  to  keep  his  head 
above  water.  As  to  progress  in  any  dii-ection,  the 
water  was  settling  that  question  for  him  ;  for  the 
mighty,  resistless  tide  held  him  in  its  embrace,  and 
was  bearing  him  onward  helplessly.  There  was 
no  place  to  which  he  might  look  for  escape,  and 
no  one  to  help. 

But  where  was  Pat? 


I 


BART   OFF   ON  AN   EXPEDITION.  39 


III. 


Bart  off  on   an   Expedition.  -  TJte   Search  after 

Solomon.  -  The   aged    Toder.  _  The   Flaming 

rlT      ''  ^'^'^'^^^^^^^d  Broomstick.  -  CoUcwse 

oj  Solomon.  -  Extinction  of  the  Flaming  Fury 

-  bolomon  vanishes.  ~  Terrible  Tidiriqs,  —  An 

anxious  Search.  — Despair. 

JfV^EANVVHILE  Bart  I.ad  started  off,  as  we 
TU^  have  seen,  on  l,is  expedition-  after  old 
»  feoomon.     The  place  in  which  he  proposed 

to  seek  after  him  was  distinguished  by  the  eu- 
phomous   and   historical  name   of   Loch  Lomond 
wluch  name   originated   from  the  existence  of  a 
small  but  very  pretty  lake  in  that  locality,  which 

i  Zl  'l\      *;  "r'f ''''°'-'"'»^l  °f  -  ''ill-     Now,  this  lake 

and  th.s^  h,ll  bore  a  fknciCul  resemblance  to  the 

I  famous  Scottish  lake  and  hill,  and  the  names  were 

applied  to  these  by  some  enthisiastic  Scotchman, 
llie  lake  was  one  of  a  chain,  all  of  which  were 
small  and  rather  pretty,  and  the  whole  region 
round  about  went  by  ti,e  name  that  properly  be- 
longed  to  the  lake.  f    i'     y     >= 

Two  or  three  miles  away  from  this  lake  there 


40 


FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 


was  what  is  called  a  "  colored  settlement,"  which, 
of  course,  means  a  settlement  inhabited  by  people 
of  color.  This  was  also  called  the  "  black  settle- 
ment," and  also  the  "  nip,-ger  settlement."  Solo- 
mon had  informed  Bart  that  lie  intended  visiting 
this  place,  and  Bart  thouglit  of  this  as  the  only 
place  where  he  conld  be  hear«l  (>!". 

The  colored  settlement  was  founded  by  some 
slaves,  brought  away  from  the  ir^ouihern  States  by 
the  British  during  the  war  of  1812.  They  had 
been  presented  with  land  here,  and  had  been  told 
to  chop  down  the  trees,  clear  the  land,  and  become 
farmers.  The  settlement  had  not  been  a  very  great 
success,  however,  and  it  was  generally  admitted 
that  the  genius  of  these  people  did  not  lie  in  colo- 
nizing new  countries. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  and  though  Bart 
saw  high  fog  banks  piled  up  to  the  skies  in  the 
harbor  and  in  the  bay,  yet  he  soon  left  behind  him 
all  thought  of  this,  and  entered  the  country.  The 
scenery  was  attractive,  the  air  was  clear  and  ex- 
hilarating, the  luu'se  was  fast,  and  everything 
cons})ire(l  to  lill  him  with  joyous  feeling.  Hia 
mind  reverted  to  l)ruce's  letter,  and  ho  passed 
most  of  his  time  during  the  drive  in  speculating 
about  the  coming  excursion,  and  in  rejoicing  over 
the  haf>py  accident  that  had  taken  Captain  Corbet 
to  Prince  Edward  Island,  and  brought  him  within 
sight  of  Bruce  before  he  had  engaged  about  the 
oats.     Amid  such  pleasant  thoughts  as  these  hia 


:: 


THE  SEARCH  AFTER  SOLOMON.         41 

mind  busied  itself,  and  at  length  lie  reached  the 
colored  settlement. 

He  stopped  at  a  rude  log  hut,  which  had  a  roof 
of  polos  and  mud,  from  which  a  flour  barrel  pro- 
jected, and  served  as  a  chimney.  Here  some 
squalid  children  were  playing  on  the  turf,  and  an 
elderly  colored  lady  was  engaged  in  washing. 
Her  Bart  accosted  with  a  polite  inquiry  about 
Solomon. 

"Solomon!"  said  she.  "  Wha  dat  ar?  What? 
dat  ar  ole  man  ?     Mrs.  Franklin's  ole  man  ?  " 

Bart  didn't  know  anything  about  Mrs.  Franklin, 
but  he  gave  a  description  of  Solomon,  which  was' 
sufficiently  accurate  iov  this  lady  to  recognize  it. 

"  Dem's  um,"  she  said,  in  a  positive  tone.    "  Wal 
—  dat  ar  ole  man's  libben  at  Mrs.  Franklin's— 
"And  where  is  Mrs.  Franklin's?" 
"  Jes  you  go  ahead  till  you  come  to  de  meetin' 
house,  an  it's  de  sebent  house  after  you  get  to  de 
meetin-house." 

Bart  drove  on,  and  in  due  process  of  time" 
reached  the  meeting-house,  and  then  began  to 
count  the  houses.  ITo  foun.l  a  little  difficulty 
about  this,  as  he  could  hardly  distinguish  between 
what  might  be  a  house  and  what  might  also  be 
H  barn,  and  was  stopping  at  a  place  in  the  road 
opposite  a  hut  like  tlu^  one  at  which  he  had  first 
stopped,  when  his  attention  was  arrested  by  the 
sight  of  a  man  in  the  field  on  the  other  side  of  the 
way.     The  man's  back  was  turned  towards  him, 


42 


FIRE   IN    THE   WOODS. 


and  he  was  toiling  with  jiU  his  miglit  over  a  stone 
and  a  crowlKir,  occasionally  straightening  himself 
np  and  rub1)ing  his  back,  and  uttering  groans 
which  reached  Bart's  ears  even  at  that  distance, 
and  smote  upon  his  heart. 

That  aged  figure,  —  aged  it  was,  —  could  that 
mdeed  be  Solomon?  and  was  this  the  way  he 
enjoyed  himself  while  on  a  visit  to  his  friends? 
With  a  crow])ar,  prying  up  granite  boulders  ? 
What  a  thought ! 

In  a  moment  Bart  was  out  of  the  wagon,  and 
was  running  over  the  fields  towards  the  old  man. 
He  came  up  close  just  as  the  old  man  was  rubbing 
his  back.  He  caught  him  by  the  arm.  The  old 
man  gave  a  wild  leap,  and  turned  round  with  an 
expression  of  awful  fear. 

But  the  object  of  his  fear  resolved  itself  into  the 
pleasant  face  of  Bart,  and  all  the  terror  fled,  and 
a  smile  of  joy  illumed  the  venerable,  yet  dusky 
face.  Tears  started  to  his  eyes,  and,  reaching  out 
both  hands,  he  dropped  the  crowbar ;  then,  coming 
forward  with  a  low  moan  of  happiness,  he  ex- 
claimed,— 

"You!  Mas'r  Bart.  You,  Mas'r  Bart  — you  — 
you  —  Mas'r  Bart  — 

Yes,  it  was  Solomon. 

Full  of  wonder  and  pity,  Bart  seized  the  hands 
of  his  old  friend,  and  began  asking  him  a  thousand 
questions.  What  was  he  doing  here?  What  did 
he   mean  by  keeping  away  ?     And  then,  without 


t 
I 
I 


THE    AGED    TOILER. 


43 


waiting  for  an  answer,  lie  went  on  to  tell  about 
Bruce's  letter,  and  their  proposed  expedition,  and 
the  necessity  which  tliere  was  for  him  to  ac- 
company them.  Finally  he  urged  him  to  get 
ready  as  soon  as  possible. 

To  all  this  Solomon  listen.ed  in  silence,  without 
"lying  a  word.  He  stood  with  his  hands  clasped 
together,  with  his  eyes  fixed  at  times  on  Bart,  and 
at  times  half  closed,  while  his  lips  kept  muttering 
low,  inaudible  words.  At  length,  however,  his 
face  and  manner  underwent  a  change.  He  started 
back,  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  something  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  that  same  expression  of  terror  came 
over  his  face  which  Bart  had  seen  upon  it  when  he 
first  accosted  him. 

At  this  Bart  turned  instinctively  to*  see  what 
it  was  that  inspired  such  terror  in  the  mind  of 
Solomon. 

He  saw  a  colored  lady  —  tall,  gaunt,  with  a 
turban  on  her  brow  of  fiaming  red,  with  a  look  of 
fury  on  her  face,  and  a  broom  in  her  hand,  which 
she  was  brandishing  wildly.  She  came  with  great 
strides  at  a  run,  and  was  evidently  coming  towards 
them.  Bart's  first  idea  was,  that  she  might  be  a 
mad  woman,  and  he  had  a  vague  impulse  to  run; 
but  the  next  instant  his  mind  coinuM;ted  this  wo- 
man with  Solomon,  and  suggesteil  her  as  the  cause 
of  his  fear.  As  for  Solomon,  he  was  now  quite 
beside  himself  with  terror.  His  hands  fell  nerve- 
less by  his  sides,  his  jaw"  dr()i)ped,  his  head  shook 


44  FIRE   IN    THE   WOODS. 

as  with  a  palsy,  bis  knees  knocked  together,  he 
seemed  scarce  able  to  stand  erect,  and  could  not 
utter  one  single  word  ;  all  the  while  his  eyes  were 
fixed  on  the  advancing  Fury  with  the  flaming  tur- 
ban, and  his  look  was  the  look  of  one  who  expected 
instant  annihilation. 

The  Fury  of  the  flaming  turban  drew  nearer. 
Her  course  showed  that  she  had  emerged  from  the 
house  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road.  As  she 
rushed  on,  and  as  she  brandished  her  broom,  she 
howled  out  the  most  terrible  threats  against  some- 
body, which  somebody  Bart  now  suppotied  must 
be  Solomon,  and  at  once,  full  of  pity,  determined 
to  defend  the  old  man  from  her  fiiry.  He  there- 
fore stood  in  front  of  Solomon,  and  was  just  about 
to  call  to  his  servant  to  come  and  help  him,  when 
the  idea  struck  him  that  the  Flaming  Fury  seemed 
strangely  familiar  to  him;  and  as  she  came  yet 
nearer,  ho  recognized  her  perfectly.  To  his  utter 
bewilderment  and  unbounded  amazement,  the 
Flaming  Fury  turned  out  to  be  no  other  tlian  one 
who,  for  the  last  few  years,  had  been  quite  a  vis- 
itor at  his  father's  kitchen,  and  a  dependant  on  his 
father's  bounty.  "  Black  Betsy"  was  the  name  by 
which  she  was  known.  A  silvery  voice,  a  truly 
humble  and  grateful  mind,  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit, 
a  winning  demeanor,  a  smile  that  always  charmed 
every  one  upon  whom  it  l)eame(l,  —  such  was  the 
Black  Betsy  that  was  known  and  loved  in  tlie  Damer 
kitchen.    But  what  was  this  ?   What  had  happened  ? 


THE   FLAMING   FURY. 


45 


■ 


Tliis  Black  Betsy?  This  Yirag-o,  tliis  Terror,  this 
Flaming  Fury?  This!  Impossible.  Yet  there 
was  the  astoniiding-  fact.  Tiiere  was  only  one 
explanation.     Black  Betsy  was  mad  ! 

No,  Bart,  she  was  not  mad  ;  she  was  only  drunk; 
—  mad  drunk,  if  you  like,  but  not  what  is  gen- 
erally called  mad. 

And  thus,  mad  drunk,  the  Flaming  Fury  came 
bounding  up,  howling  and  brandishing  lier  broom. 
The  moment  that  he  recognized  her,  Bart  felt  not 
the  slightest  fear  of  her.  He  stood  in  front  of 
Solomon.  He  looked  at  her  fixedly,  and  raised  his 
hand  with  a  quiet  frown. 

It  is  just  possible  that,  if  Bart  had  been  a 
stranger,  the  Flaming  Fury  would  have  swept  him 
away  with  her  broom,  as  she  would  ha\'e  swept  a 
straw.  But  seeing  him,  and  recognizing  him, 
produced  an  effect  instantaneous  and  most  aston- 
ishing. She  stopped,  still  staring  at  him.  The 
broom  for  a  few  moments  remained  poised  in  her 
hands,  and  then  slowly  sank  towards  the  ground  ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  the  hard  ferocity  of  her 
face  died  out  utterly,  and  was  succeeded  by  a 
smile  so  gentle,  so  amiable,  and  so  motherly,  that 
Bart  looked  at  her  in  fresh  amazement. 

''  Why,  ef  it  ain't  de  dear  chicken  1  Ef  it  ain't 
de  dear  little  Mas'r  Bart,  his  bressed  sef.  De  sakes, 
now  1 " 

This  exclamation  was  uttered  in  the  softest,  and 
most   silvery,  and  most   winning   of  those   tonea 


46 


FIRE   IN   THE  WOODS. 


which  Bart  had  always  associated  with  Black 
Betsy.  Tliis  additional  proof  of  the  identity  of 
this  amiable  being  with  the  Flaming  Fury  only 
increased  liis  wonder. 

"  An  how  is  dat  ar  bressed  angel,  your  mudder, 
Mas'r  Bart?  Clar  ef  dese  yer  ole  eyes  ain't  farly 
achin  to  see  her  agin." 

"  She's  very  well,  thanks,"  said  Bart,  slowly. 

"  Dat's  good;  dat's  lubly.  Clar  ef  it  don't  go 
clean  to  mv^  ole  heart !  An  so  you  dribe  out  to  see 
de  ole  man  !  Wal,  I  alius  sez,  dat  ar  Mas'r  Bart, 
I  ses,  ef  he  ain't  de  'stror'nest,  'fecsh'nest  chick- 
en !  All  heart,  I  sez,  he  is;  all  clar  lub  —  no 
mistake.  An  what  is  dis  life  wurf  widout  lub? 
Why,  it's  notin  but  de  soundin  brasses  an  templin 
simplum.     Clar  ef  it  ain't !  " 

While  this  conyersation  had  been  going  on, 
Solomon  had  regained  consciousness  ;  and  seeing 
the  change  that  had  come  over  the  woman,  and 
that  the  Flaming  Fury  had  subsided  into  the  gen- 
tlest of  beings,  he  began  to  gather  together  his 
scattered  senses.  Bart's  back  was  turned  to  him, 
and  so  he  did  not  see  him.  But  Solomon  did  not 
care  for  that.  ITis  one  idea  now  was  to  save  him- 
self for  the  time,  at  least. 

So,  first  of  all,  he  edged  away  a  little,  very 
sloMdy  and  very  cautiously.  No  notice  was  taken 
of  this,  and  he  ventured  to  retreat  still  fiirther. 
Still  Black  Betsy  went  on  talking  in  her  silvery 
voice,  and  with  her  winning  smile.     So  Solomon 


i 


■) 


i 


THE    BRANDISHED    BROOMSTICK. 


47 


retreated  still  farther.  Black  Betsy  saw  all  this 
movement,  and  once  she  raised  the  broom  and 
held  it  in  tlie  air.  But  her  face  was  wreathed 
with  smiles,  and  her  soft,  gentle  accents  flowed  on 
in  a  mellifluous  strain  ;  and  so  it  was,  that  the  up- 
raised broom,  instead  of  calling  Solomon  back, 
only  hastened  his  retreat.  He  thereu])on  turned 
abruptly,  and  making  his  way  as  rapidly  as  possi- 
ble to  the  nearest  woods,  he  soon  disappeared. 

Black  Betsy  still  went  on,  mellifluous  and  vol- 
uble. The  warmth  of  her  nature  seemed  bound- 
less. Tears  stood  in  her  eyes  as  she  told  Bart 
how  she  loved  his  mother.  Finally  she  sto|)ped 
with  a  sob,  overcome  with  emotion,  as  she  related 
the  kindness  she  had  received  from  his  father,  and 
began  to  cry. 

At  this  Bart,  who  had  been  trying  in  vain  to 
understand  her,  finally  gave  it  up,  and  thought  of 
Solomon.     He  turned  around  to  speak  to  him. 

To  his  amazement  Solomon  was  not  there. 

And  now  this  completed  his  bewilderment.  He 
drew  a  long  breath,  and  gave  up  altogether  every 
effort  to  understand  anything  at  all. 

"Why,  where  has    Solomon    gone?"  he  asked. 

"  Beiryin,"  said  Black  Betsy,  gently  —  "  berryin. 
De  ole  man  dreadful  fond  o'  berries." 

"  Berries  ?  Well,  that's  odd.  Why,  I  want  to 
see  him." 

"He  tink  he  gib  you  pleasant  '})rise  —  go  pick 
berries  for  de  dear  chicken,"  said  Black  Betsy,  in 
a  tender  voice. 


48 


FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


"  But  I  want  him,"  said  Bart.  "  I  want  him 
now.     Where  did  he  go  ?  " 

''  Don-no,  Mas'r  Bart  —  no  mor'n  a  chile.  You 
call  out  real  loud,  —  you  got  to  call  loud  fore  dat 
ar  ole  man'll  har  you.  He's  got  dreadful  deaf  an 
hard  o'  hearin  o'  late  —  dose  times." 

Bart  now  shouted  over  and  over  again,  but  there 
was  no  response.  He  asked  his  servant  if  he  had 
noticed  Solomon.  The  servant  had  noticed  him, 
and  told  him  about  the  retreat  to  the  woods.  Bart 
did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it  all.  The  appa- 
rition of  the  Flaming  Fury  had  gradually  lost  its 
force,  and  he  thought  only  of  the  gentle,  silvery 
voice  of  Black  Betsy.  The  retreat  of  Solomon, 
therefore,  did  not  seem  to  arise  from  fear  of  so 
gentle  a  being,  but  from  something  else  —  and 
what  could  that  be  ? 

"  De  ole  man  tinks  you  gwine  to  spen  de  day," 
said  Black  Betsy.  "  He  gone  off  to  dig  sassy- 
prilla  to  make  beer.  You  wait  and  he  come  back 
soon." 

So  Bart  waited  a  little  while,  hoping  that  Solo- 
mon would  return. 

But  Solomon  did  not  return. 

Black  Betsy  entertained  him  with  remarks  in 
her  usual  strains,  chiefly  of  an  aifectionate  and 
end'jaring  character  ;  but  Bart  was  so  disap})ointed 
that  he  paid  but  little  attention  to  her.  He  had 
come  out  to  get  Solomon's  consent  to  go  with  him, 
and  had  not  been  able  to  do  so.     What  was  the 


■  1 

'a 


.  I*""^ll  't  i 


•  i 


TERRIBLE   TIDIXnq.  49 

reason?  Could  it  be  possible  that  Solomon  did 
not  want  to  go,  but  did  not  like  to  refuse,  and  so 
had  taken  this  way  of  getting  out  of  the  difficulty? 
It  seemed  very  much  like  it. 

Bart  waited  an  hour  or  so,  and  then  drove  away 
to  an  inn  on  the  borders  of  the  lake.  Here  he 
dined.  Then  he  drove  back  again  to  see  Solomon. 
To  his  deep  disappointment  he  learned  that  Solo- 
mon had  not  made  his  appearance  since.  He 
therefore  left  a  message  to  the  efl'ect  that  he 
would  drive  out  again  on  the  following  day,  or,  if 
it  was  stormy,  on  the  first  fine  day.  This  was  all 
he  could  do ;  and  so,  mastering  his  disappointment 
as  well  as  he  could,  he  drove  home  again. 

It  was  evening  when  he  reached  home.  Here 
a  fresh  surprise  awaited  him ;  for  on  asking  after 
Phil  and  Pat,  he  learned  that  they  left  the  house 
after  breakfast,  and  had  not  been  seen  since.  He 
wondered  at  this,  as  he  could  not  imagine  what 
would  take  them  away,  particularly  on  an  occasion 
like  this,  when  they  ought  to  be  naturally  anxious 
to  learn  the  result  of  so  important  a  thing  as  his 
search  after  Solomon.  Pie  concluded,  however, 
that  they  had  gone  off  on  some  long  walk,  or  out 
in  the  harbor  in  a  boat,  and  had  been  detained. 

After  a  time,  as  he  was  wandering  about,  the 
servant  who  had  driven  him  to  Loch  Lomond 
met  l\m,  and  told  him  that  there  was  a  report  of 
some  accident  that  had  occurred  at  the  Falls  that 
morning. 

4 


■^•■f ' 


50  FIRE  IN  THE  WOODS. 

In  a  moment  Bart's  most  anxious  excitement 
was  aroused,  and  lie  asked  about  the  accident. 
The  servant  did  not  know  anytliing  in  particular. 
He  had  only  heard  that  a  boat  had  been  upset  in 
the  Falls  with  two  men.  Some  said  they  Avere 
boys.  People  had  seen  them  swept  under  the 
suspension  bridge.  It  was  said  that  they  were 
drowned. 

At  the  mention  of  this,  Bart  felt  for  a  few 
"loments  as  though  he  were  turned  to  stone.  He 
could  not  move  or  speak.  In  those  few  moments 
there  flashed  across  his  mind  the  remembrance  of 
what  Pat  and  Phil  had  said  about  a  visit  to  the 
islands,  together  with  mysterious  hints  and  casual 
remarks  that  he  had  heard  afterwards,  to  which  at 
the  time  he  had  paid  no  attention,  but  which  now 
all  came  back  to  his  memory  with  fearful  distinct- 
ness and  accuracy.  From  all  this  thre  arose 
within  him  the  fear  that  Pat  and  Phil  had  made 
the  attempt  against  which  he  had  warned  them, 
taking  advantage  of  his  absence,  and  that  the 
boat  that  had  been  upset  was  no  other  than 
theirs. 

What  was  to  be  done? 

He  did  not  know  what.  By  this  time  his  father 
was  home,  and  he  at  once  went  to  him  and  told 
him  all  about  it.  At  this  storv  Mr.  Damer's  anxie- 
ty  was  equal  to  that  of  Bart.  He  himself  had 
heard,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  about  the  accident, 
but  had  never  imagined  that  it  so  nearly  affected 


a 


AN   ANXIOUS   SEARCH. 


61 


i 


him.  The  moment  tliut  he  learned  this  from  Bart, 
he  at  once  went  forth  to  make  further  in(iiiiries, 
to  see  what  coiikl  be  done,  and  to  commence  a 
search  in  any  possible  way  in  which  a  search 
Rii^'ht  be  made. 

He  went  first  of  all  to  the  suspension  bridge, 
and  made  iufjuiries  of  the  toll-kee])er.  That  func- 
tionary was  able  to  tell  him  all  that  could  be  told. 
It  amounted  to  very  little.  He  had  heard  shouts 
on  the  bridge,  over  wliich  two  or  three  people 
were  passing,  and  had  gone  out  to  see  what  was 
the  matter.  He  had  just  got  out  in  time  to  see 
two  men  —  or  two  boys,  he  did  not  know  which  — 
swept  by  the  current  under  the  bridge.  There 
was  a  boat  also,  bottom  upwards.  He  and  all  the 
rest  stood  staring  in  horror  without  doing  any- 
thing. To  do  anything  was  in  fact  impossible. 
The  bridge  was  far  above  the  water,  preci})ices 
intervened,  and  the  current  was  running  so  fast 
that  the  figures  were  swept  away  before  they 
could  fairly  understand  what  had  happened. 

Were  they  alive,  or  dead  ? 

This  was  the  question  which  Bart  asked  in 
intense  anxietv  and  dread. 

The  toll-keeper  could  not  say,  but  his  impression 
at  the  time  was,  that  they  were  alive  ;  he  also 
had  an  idea  that  one  of  them  was  clinging  to  a 
bit  of  wood.     But  he  would  not  be  sure. 

"Could  he  make  out  their  clothes  —  what  they 
were  like  ?  " 


r 


52  FIRE   IN   THE  WOODS. 

No ;  for  only  their  heads  were  above  water. 
They  had  no  hats.  They  uttered  no  cry,  and 
made  no  noise  whatever,  but  lie  did  not  think  that 
they  were  dead.  Still  they  did  not  seem  to  be 
swimming,   and  the  whole  thing  was  a  puzzle. 

Unable  to  get  any  more  satisfaction  from  the 
toll-keeper,  Mr.  Damer  next  went  to  tlie  town,  and 
made  inquiries  among  the  boatmen  and  fishermen. 
There  was  but  one  reply  from  all  of  them,  and 
that  was,  that  they  had  seen  nothing.  They 
informed  him  that  there  had  been  a  thick  fog  in 
the  harbor  all  day,  and  a  boat  might  drift  out  to 
sea  without  being  noticed.  All  of  them  thought 
it  very  unlikely  that  any  men,  after  being  upset  in 
the  Falls,  could  avoid  drowning,  although,  at  the 
same  time,  they  were  willing  to  allow  that  it  was 
just  possible.  But  if  so,  the  only  chance  that 
they  could  have  was  to  be  picked  up  while  in  the 
harbor.  If  any  men  were  to  drift  down  the  harbor, 
in  the  fog,  without  being  observed,  out  into  the 
bay,  there  did  not  seem  any  chance  of  their  being 
saved.  - 

Such  was  the  opinion  of  those  who  knew  most 
about  it.  Full  of  anxiety,  and  almost  despair,  Bart 
and  his  fotlier  then  went  elsewhere  on  their  hope- 
less errand.  They  visited  the  tug-boat  men,  the 
ferry-boat  men ;  they  questioned  many  of  tlie  scow 
men  and  rafts-men;  but  though  most  of  these  men 
had  heard  about  the  accident,  none  of  them  had 
either  seen  or  heard  of  any  men,  or  of  any  boat, 
drifting  down  the  harbor. 


p 


( 


DESPAIR. 


53 


her  last  hope.     Yet  still   they  were  not  willing 

to  g,ve  up  then-  search,  l,„t  continue,]  until  late 

no    the   n,ght    the.r    now   apparently   hopeless 


BM&te 


!?• 


54 


FIUE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


IV. 


At  the  Mercy  of  the  Tide.  —  Ears  deafened.  —  Eye^ 
blinded.  — yt  fresh  Struggle  for  Life. —  The  Hoar 
of  the  Sham  Whistle.  —  Where  are  we  ?  —  Pat 
explores.  — A  desolate  Abode.  —  The  falling  Tides, 
—  Without  Food  and  Shelter. 


•jtaffTIERE  is  Pat? 

^KVA  Such  was  tlio  terrible  question  tliat  came 
^^^^  to  the  mind  of  Phil,  as,  clinging-  to  the  oar, 
he  felt  hiniscU"  swept  onward  by  the  resistless  cur- 
rent. Far  on  high  was  the  sus])ension  bridge;  on 
either  side  were  dark,  savage  precipices,  and  the 
sweep  of  the  tide  hurried  him  along  helplessly 
between  these. 

Where  is  Pat? 

At  that  dread  question  his  heart  sank  within  him. 
Tlio  remiMubnince  of  his  recent  ])lunge  beneath 
the  furious  billows  wluM'e  he  had  been  hurled 
down,  and  whirled  round,  and  thrown  out  again, 
was  still  most  vivid.  He  thought  of  Pat  as  being 
engulfed  beneath  them  still.  His  own  escape 
seemed  little  short  of  miracuh)us,  and  lie  could 
not  hope  that  both  of  them  were  safe.     Such  an 


AT    TIIH    MF:I{('Y   ok    THE   TIDK. 


escape  was  astonishing  for  one,  but  for  two  it  was 
too  nuK'li  to  hope  for.  lie  did  not  dare  to  loo-; 
hack.  lie  was  afraid  to  know  tlie  worst,  and  that 
look  l)aek,  he  thou^-ht,  wouhl  show  hirii  only  the 
dark  water.  For  a  time  he  felt  as  thonj^h  he  woidJ 
rather  fear  the  worst,  than  actually  know  it;  and 
so,  despairingly,  he  was  swept  on,  and  passed  under 
the  l)ridtj;e  in  the  same  attitude  in  which  he  had 
eniei-^ed  from  the  Falls. 

Suddenly  from  behind  him  there  .sounded  a 
cry,  — 

"  Hooray  !  " 

A  thrill  ol'  joy  passtnl  throu^'h  Phil.  Tt  was 
Pat's  voice.  In  an  instant  his  terror  lied,  and  he 
looked  back.  There,  to  his  aniaycnnent^  close  be- 
hind hiiM,  he  saw  Pat,  driftinj;-  :''''n^-,  with  his  face 
above  water  fully  revealed,  and  showing;-,  evt-n  at 
thatd/ead  moment,  (he  calm  sell-reliance  and  ^'ood- 
natured  ease  that  always  distin^uishe<l  him.  I'liil 
was  so  overcome  with  joy,  that  he  could  not  say 
a  word. 

"  Sure  an  it's  rather  wet,  so  it  is,"  said  Pat,  in  as 
natural  a  tone  as  though  ho  were  walking  along 
the  road  in  a  rain  shower. 

Phil  made  no  answin-. 

Again  they  drifted  on  in  silence. 

Now,  as  for  Pat,  at  the  moment  when  the  boat 
hung  hoviM'ing  on  tlu^  edge  of  the  fall,  he  had 
stood,  keen,  watchful,  observant,  with  every  one 
of  his  wits  about  him,  and  had  shoute(l  out  to  Phil. 


56 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


Pliil  had  jumped  first,  but  Pat  followed  immedi- 
ately. His  experience  was  like  that  of  Phil,  with 
this  diti'erence  —  that  he  was  under  water  a  little 
longer.  On  emerging,  he  saw  Phil  a  little  in  front 
of  him,  and  so  he  felt  at  ease  on  that  score.  His 
first  thought  now  was  about  the  boat.  He  looked 
back,  and  saw  it  not  more  than  six  feet  behind  him, 
bottom  upwards.  Upon  this  he  was  seized  with  a 
very  strong  desire  to  gain  the  boat  once  more  ;  and 
so  he  floated  on  for  a  time,  thinking  what  to  do. 
At  length  he  made  an  effort  to  swim  back  towards 
it.  The  progress  that  he  made  was  scarce  i)er- 
ceptible,  and  he  could  hardly  have  gained  the  boat 
by  his  own  efforts ;  but,  fortunately,  tlie  river 
current  favored  him,  for  the  boat  reached  a  place 
where  it  was  whirled  round  so  that  its  stern  came 
close  to  him.  A  vigorous  elfort  enabled  him  to 
seize  it,  and  it  was  his  joy  at  this  which  Iiad 
elicited  the  cry  that  had  first  given  to  Phil  the 
knowledge  of  his  safety.  The  other  remark,  about 
the  wetness  of  the  place,  was  merely  owing  to  the 
same  exultation,  and  was  intended  to  convey  to 
Phil  something  of  the  same  cheerful  confidence 
that  filled  his  own  mind. 

The  boat  was  bottoni  upwards,  but  that  was 
rather  an  advantage ;  for  a  boat  can  bear  a  heavier 
weight  under  those  circumstances  than  if  it  is 
filled  with  water  in  its  natural  position.  Pat  knew 
this  very  well,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  avail  him- 
self of  this   knowledge.     He  did  so  by  climbing 


AT   THK    MERCY    OF   THE    TIDE. 


57 


upon  it — a  task  wliich  required  some  eflfort,  but 
in  which  he  at  lengtli  succeeded.  In  doing  so,  he 
was  compelled  to  let  go  his  oar.  This,  however, 
did  not  trouble  him,  for  the  boat  was  better  than 
any  oar  could  be,  and  so  he  straddled  upon  the 
bottom,  and  began  to  think  how  he  could  get  Phil 
into  the  same  comparatively  easy  position. 

At  last  he  hit  upon  a  plan. 

"  Phil !  "  he  cried. 

Phil  looked  round,  and  saw  the  boat,  and  Pat 
seated  on  it. 

"  Shove  us  ycr  oar,  darlint,"  said  Pat.  "  Can  ye 
shove  us  up  your  oar,  jewel  ?  " 

Pat  spoke  in  a  coaxing  tone,  just  as  though  he 
was  asking  some  favor  from  Phil. 

At  this  request  Phil  pushed  the  oar*  along  the 
surface  of  the  water  with  one  hand,  using  the 
other  to  keep  liiinself  afloat.  The  boat  was  near 
enough  for  him  to  reach  it,  and  Pat,  stooping  down, 
grasped  it.  Then  pulling  at  it,  he  drew  Pliil  to- 
wards him,  until  at  length  he  also  was  able  to 
grasp  the  boat. 

"  Now,"  said  Pat,  "  PU  take  the  oar,  and  you  jist 
climb  up  here." 

He  took  the  oar  in  one  hand,  and  reached  out 
his  other  to  assist  Phil.  Pat's  help  was  of  great 
value  in  such  a  difficult  task,  and  by  means  of  it 
Phil  was  at  length  al>le  to  claml)er  up,  and  straddle 
U])on  the  boat  behind  his  friend.  They  found,  to 
their  delight,  that  the  boat  supported  both  of  them 


58 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


\ 


with  the  greatest  ease.  Now,  had  it  been  filled 
with  water  in  its  ordinary  position,  right  side  up, 
it  could  scarcely  have  given  assistance  to  one  of 
them ;  but  as  it  was,  it  gave  the  most  perfect  sup- 
port to  l)()tli  of  them.  The  reason  is  easy  to  ex- 
plain. Wlieii  a  boat  is  turned  completely  over, 
bottom  u[)wards,  so  suddenly  as  this  was,  there 
always  remains  a  certain  amount  of  air  confined 
inside.  This  gives  it  an  immense  amount  of  buoy- 
ancy, and  until  that  air  all  escapes  that  buoyancy 
continues.  Of  course,  after  a  time  the  air  will  all 
escape,  and  then  the  boat  must  sink  beneath  the 
weight  imposed  u[)on  it.  But  if  the  boat  is  tight, 
the  air  will  be  retained,  and  consequently  the 
buoyancy  will  remain  for  a  long  time.  Now,  for- 
tunately for  Phil  and  Pat,  the  boat  that  they  had 
was  new,  and  well  calked,  and  as  tight  as  possible  ; 
and  so  there  was  no  immediate  danger.  Fortu- 
nately also  for  them,  they  had  thus  far  suffered 
nothing  from  cold ;  for  it  was  the  end  of  July,  and 
the  water  was  rather  warm,  and  tlie  air  was  warm 
also.  And  so,  though  they  had  experienced  such 
a  plunge  into  the  water,  and  such  a  prolonged 
immersion,  and  though  tlioy  now  sat  thus  in  their 
wet  clothes,  yet,  after  all,  they  suffered  nothing 
whatever  from  eitlier  damp  or  chill,  but,  on  the 
whole,  were  rather  comfortable  tlian  otherwise. 

Thus  fiir  they  had  uttered  no  cry  for  help,  nor 
had  they  heard  any  call  of  any  human  voice  that 
might   indicate  the   neighborhood  of  any  human 


yf 


AT   THE    MKRCY   OF   THE   TIDE. 


50 


i 


' 


I 


sympathy.  They  had  passed  under  the  suspen- 
sion bridge.  They  had  swept  past  shores  that 
were  crowded  on  either  side  with  wharves,  liouses, 
and  steam  saw-mills,  but  as  yet  had  seen  no  eilbrts 
to  assist  them.  In  fact,  as  it  afterwards  proved, 
no  one  had  noticed  them.  Whether  it  was  tiiat 
every  one  was  busy,  or  that  they  had  been  care- 
lessly regarded  as  an  ordinary  boat  in  its  ordinary 
position,  could  not  be  known  ;  certain  it.  was  that 
no  on3  offered  to  assist  them.  Thus,  then,  they 
swept  along,  until  at  length  they  reached  the 
place  where  the  river  enters  the  harbor.  Just 
here,  the  boat,  in  its  drift,  came  near  to  the  oar 
which  Pat  had  dropped  when  he  clambered  into 
it.  He  grasped  PhiFs  oar,  and  reaching  out,  he 
drew  it  towards  liim  and  regained  possession  of  it. 

"  There's  no  knowin,"  said  he,  "  what  use  this 
may  be.  It's  best  to  take  it  whin  it  comes  to  us 
handy." 

Saying  this,  he  gave  Phil  one  oar,  and  keeping 
the  other  himself,  he  waited  for  some  chance  of 
escape. 

But  their  troubles  were  far  from  ending  as  yet, 
and  soon  the  prospect  of  escape  was  removed 
still  farther  fr()m  them.  For  as  they  reached  the 
place  where  the  river  enters  the  harbor,  just  as 
they  saw  a  man  on  the  beach,  and  began  to  shout 
to  him  to  try  and  attract  his  attention,  they  drifted 
on,  and  plunged  into  a  thick,  dense  cloud  of  fog. 

That  fog  was  no  conmion  fog.     It  was  tho  ad- 


60 


FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 


vance  guard  of  a  fog  that  covered  the  bay,  and 
seemed  to  be  thrown  forward  into  the  liarbor  to 
take  possession  and  hohi  it  until  the  main  army 
should  be  ready  to  advance.  It  was  dense,  damp, 
and  obscure.  Through  this  they  passed,  trying 
to  peer  through  the  gloom,  and  find  out  where  tliey 
might  be  going.  Several  times  they  shouted,  but 
soon  found  out  the  uselcssness  of  this.  For  the 
noise  and  riot  all  around  showed  them  that  shout- 
ing was  simply  absurd.  Around  them  they  heard 
the  yell  of  steam  whistles  from  tug-boats,  from 
ferry-boa* ),  and  fi'om  what  seemed  to  be  a  thou- 
sand other  places.  For  it  was  now  aliout  midday, 
and  that  is  the  time  when  all  the  steam  whistles 
of  all  the  steam  saw-mills  of  the  city  let  off  one 
simultaneous  blast.  The  yells  seemed  to  arise  in 
every  conceivable  direction.  Amid  such  an  up- 
roar, their  loudest  cries  were  feeble,  and  could 
not  be  heard ;  so  they  soon  became  convinced  of 
the  uselcssness  of  this,  and  remained  silent,  but 
watchl'ul.  Watchfulness,  however,  was  equally 
useless ;  for  if  it  is  in  vain  that  one  shouts  amid 
the  yells  of  steam  whistles,  so  it  is  equally  in  vain 
that  one  tries  to  keep  up  a  watch  in  the  midst  of 
a  dense  fog.  Watching  could  reveal  nothing  but 
that  obscurity  which  surrounded  them. 

In  this  way,  then,  they  drifted  down  the  harbor, 
while  the  steam  whistles  were  yelling  around 
them  so  as  to  stifle  all  their  cries  for  help,  and 
while   the   fog  was  gathering  round  them  in  its 


AT   THE  MERCY   OP   THE  TIDE. 


61 


dense  folds  so  as  to  obscure  their  sight.  But  the 
boat  bore  them  well,  and  it  was  at  least  a  subject 
of  rejoicing  to  them  that  they  were  thus  seated  in 
comparative  comfort  on  that  boat,  instead  of  float- 
ing up  to  their  chins  in  the  water,  clinging  to  their 
oars. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  a  word  as  they  thus 
drifted.  Both  of  them  were  anxiously  on  the  look- 
out lor  some  means  of  escape.  But  no  way  of 
escape  presented  itself.  They  drifted  on.  The 
time  seemed  long  indeed  as  they  thus  drifted, 
though  how  long  it  really  was  they  had  no  means 
of  knowing,  and  could  only  conjecture.  On  tiiey 
went,  and  still  on,  and  no  help  appeared,  and  no 
way  of  escape  was  visible. 

At  length  Pat  began  to  make  use  of  his  oar  by 
putting  it  over  the  boat  into  the  water,  and  work- 
ing it  in  the  way  called  sculling;  in  such  a  way, 
however,  as  to  give  the  boat  as  strong  an  inclina- 
tion as  possible  to  the  right.  It  was  not  easy  to 
scull,  for  there  was  no  socket  in  which  to  insert 
the  oar;  but  Fat  did  the  best  he  could,  and  by 
holding  one  foot  he  managed  to  keep  the  oar  in  a 
steady  enough  position  by  holding  it  between  his 
foot  and  the  keel.  Phil  watched  him  in  silence  for 
some  time,  and  Pat  went  on  working  at  the  oar 
with  all  his  miglit. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Pat?"  he  asked  at  last. 

"Well,"  said  l^lt,  without  stopping,  "there's 
jist  a  ghost  of  a  chance  for  us.     We're    dhriftiu 


N,t«' 


62 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


out  to  sea,  an  ef  we  sit  still  we'll  be  miles  out 
before  we  know  it.  Now  there's  Partridge  Island 
afore  us  yet,  an  it'll  be  on  our  right  as  we're 
dhriftin  out,  an  I'm  strivin  to  see  if  I  can  give  a 
twisht  to  the  boat,  so  as  to  draw  her  in  nearer  to 
the  shore."  __-- 

"Can't  I  help?"  said  Phil.     .-■ 

"  I  suppose  ye  may  as  well  thry,"  said  Pat. 

Upon  this  Phil  took  his  oar,  and  began  to  use  it 
in  the  same  way  as  Pat.  The  efforts  of  the  boys 
were  directed,  not  towards  resisting  the  current, 
but  towards  effecting  a  movement  of  the  boat  to 
the  right,  and  drawing  it  away  from  the  middle  of 
the  stream  to  within  reach  of  Partridge  Island. 
This  place  was  now  their  last  hope. 

"  Ef  we  can  only  get  out  of  the  sthraim,"  said 
Pat,  "  we'll  get  to  the  island.  The  boat's  hard  to 
move  this  way,  but  we  may  do  something." 

No  more  was  said,  but  they  both  worked  silently 
and  vigorously.  Soon  the  water  grew  somewhat 
rough,  and  waves  began  to  rise.  These  were  not 
of  any  size,  but  the  boat  was  so  low  down  that 
even  the  little  wavelets  broke  over  them  as  they 
sat  there.  After  a  time  these  ^vavelets  grew 
larger,  and  at  length  they  encountered  several  in 
succession  that  were  worthy  of  being  considered 
as  waves.  After  this  the  water  continued  rougher, 
and  their  drift  was  by  no  means  so  quiet  and  un- 
eventful as  it  had  been.  The  fog,  too,  remained 
as  thick  as  ever.    Around  them  was  still  the  sound 


THE   ROAR   OF   THE   STEAM   WHISTLE. 


63 


I 


^ 


#: 

^ 


of  whistles  and  fog  horns," and  high  and  loud  and 
clear  above  all  the  din  arose  one  far-penetrating 
yell. 

"  That's  the  island  whistle/'  said  Pat  — "  the  fog 
whistle,  so  it  is.     We're  comin  nearer." 

After  a  time  this  whistle  seemed  to  be  no  nearer, 
but  to  have  changed  its  direction. 

"  Where  in  the  wide  wurruld  are  we  dhriftin 
to  ?  "  said  Pat,  trying  in  vain  to  peer  through  the 
fog. 

"  We  must  have  passed  the  island,"  said  Phil, 
uneasily. 

Pat  shook  his  head  in  silence. 

But  now  new  anxiety  came  to  the  two  cast- 
aways, and  the  faint  liopes  that  had  arisen  began 
to  subside.  The  wind  was  blowing  somewhat 
fresh,  the  waves  were  gi'owing  larger  and  more 
aggressive  every  moment.  They  appeared  to 
have  been  carried  beyond  the  island,  and  if  so, 
they  had  no  hope  of  any  escaj)e,  unless  they  should 
come  upon  some  vessel.  I>iit  in  that  dense  fog 
such  a  hope  was  iaint  indeed.  Even  in  broad  day 
their  situation  would  have  been  dangerous,  but 
now  it  was  nothing  less  than  desperate.  These 
thoughts  low  came  to  each  of  them,  and  they 
said  nothing,  but  they  still  worked,  as  if  mechan- 
ically, at  the  oars. 

Suddenly  something  dark  loomed  immediately 
before  them  through  the  fog,  and  in  a  few  seconds, 
as  the  swift  tide  bore  them  nearer,  they  saw  rocks 
and  sea-weed. 


64 


FIRE   IN   THE  WOODS. 


"  Hurrah  !  "  cried  Pat.  "  It's  the  island,  afther 
all." 

But  at  that  moment  the  great  fog  whistle  sent 
forth  its  blast,  which  sounded  far  away  over  the 
waters. 

''  'Tain't  the  island,  ayther,  sure  enough,"  said 
Pat.     "  I  wondher  if  it's  the  shore." 

By  this  time  they  were  close  up  to  the  rocks, 
and  Pat  leaped  off.  It  was  not  deeper  than  his 
Avaist.  Phil  followed,  and  they  pulled  the  boat 
forward.  It  was  a  shelving  ledge  of  rock,  covered 
with  sea-weed ;  and  drawing  the  boat  as  far  up  on 
this  as  they  could,  they  stood  still,  and  rested,  and 
looked  around. 

But  little  could  bo  seen,  for  tlie  fog  was  thick, 
and  shut  out  all  except  wliat  was  within  their 
immediate  vicinity.  Nothing  but  rocks  and  sea- 
weed appeared.  The  rocks  were  rude  and  jagged 
crags,  upheaved  in  wild  disorder,  with  huge  boul- 
ders lying  in  the  interstices  and  hollows.  Over  all 
these  was  a  vast  accumulation  of  sea-weed. 

"  It's  ashore  somewhere  that  we  must  be,"  said 
Pat ;  "  but  where  it  is  I  don't  know  at  all,  at  all,  so 
I  don't ;  somewhere  on  the  Carleton  shore,  so  it 
is.  The  island's  over  there,  and  this  ought  to  be 
the  baich.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  You  stay 
here  by  the  boat,  and  I'll  go  off  and  see  if  I  can 
make  out  anything." 

Saying  this,  Pat  started  off  to  explore  the  rocks 
and  see  the  country.     Phil  sat  down  on  the  wet 


WHERE   ARE   WE? 


65 


sea-weed,  liolding  the  painter.  Ilis  heart  was  full 
of  fervent  gratitude  for  liis  astonishing  escape, 
and  as  his  memory  Ijrought  back  the  terrible 
events  that  had  ha})pened  since  he  left  the  island, 
a  prayer  of  thankfuhiess  was  breathed  forth  from 
his  inmost  soul  to  the  One  who  had  preserved 
him. 

In  a  short  time  Pat  returned.  He  looked  dis- 
appointed, vexed,  and  somewhat  puzzled. 

it  We're  not  on  the  baich  at  all,''  said  he,  in  a 
tone  of  vexation. 

''  Where  are  we  —  on  an  island?  " 

*'  Niver  an  island,"  said  Pat.  "  It's  a  rock  that 
we're  on.  It's  what  they  call  a  rafe.  But  what  it 
is  I  don't  know.  It's  big  enough,  and  ryns  over 
iver  so  far.  Anyhow,  w(^'re  not  far  from  the  har- 
bor, or  from  the  island.  If  I  ony  knowed  how  far 
we  were  from  the  shore,  I'd  like  it  better.  But 
I  can't  see  anything,  or  hear  anything  of  it." 

"  Perhaps  we're  close  by  the  shore,"  said  Phil. 

"  No ;  I'll  tell  you  where  it  is.  I  have  it.  I 
knowed  it,"  cried  Pat.  "  I  was  sure  of  it,  ony  I 
couldn't  get  hold  of  it.  Ye  know  that  rafe  lying 
off  the  Carleton  shore  —  Shad  liocks  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Phil. 

"Well,  it's  that  same  that  this  place  is;  and 
we're  standin  here  now,  so  we  are,  as  sure  as 
you're  alive." 

"  Shad  Rocks  !  "  cried  Phil.     "  Shad  Rocks  !  " 

"  Shad  Rocks  it  is,"  said  Pat,  "  an  no  other  place. 
5 


G6 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


All  now  I  uiKniorstun  it  all.  Out  tliero  is  the  say," 
said  Pat,  turning  and  facing  where  he  supposed 
the  sea  to  be.  "  Up  there  on  the  lift  is  Partridge 
Island,  where  ye  hear  the  staim  whistle,  and  back 
there's  the  Carleton  shore." 

This  discovery  cheered  them  both  greatly  ;  and 
the  moment  that  Pat  suggested  this,  everything 
confirmed  it.  The  sounds  of  whistles  in  various 
directions  could  now  be  identified  with  various 
steamboats  with  which  they  were  acquainted,  while 
the  lowing  of  cattle  and  the  reports  of  guns  in 
other  directions  showed  where  the  land  was. 

They  now  looked  forward  with  perfect  calmness 
towards  escaping.  Before  very  long  the  tide  had 
retreated  far  enough  to  leave  the  boat  exposed. 
The  first  thing  that  they  did  was  to  turn  her  over 
and  set  her  right.  They  then  put  inside  her  the 
oars,  which  had  saved  their  lives  in  the  falls,  and 
which  they  had  fortunately  brought  with  them  all 
the  time  of  their  drift  on  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 
This  gave  them  the  means  of  effecting  their  es- 
cape. 

All  that  they  now  had  to  do  was  to  wait  till  the 
boat  could  float  .again.  As  near  as  they  could 
calculate,  the  tide  would  not  be  back  again  suffi- 
ciently to  float  the  boat  until  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  They  had  therefore  nothing  to  do  but 
to  wait  as  patiently  as  possible.  They  were  wet 
and  hungry ;  but  in  that  midsummer  day,  the  wet 
did  not  make  them  at  all  cold,  and  in  the  course 


WITHOUT   FOOD  ANIl  3HKLTER. 


67 


of  time  their  clothes  dried  upon  tliem;  and  as  to 
hunger,  they  were  too  niucli  overjoyed  at  their 
escape  to  make  any  allusions  to  such  a  trivial 
thing.  They  amused  themselves  by  hunting  after 
shrimps  in  the  interstices  of  the  rocks  and  in  the 
water  pools  that  lay  aliout. 

Thus  the  time  passed,  and  at  length  the  tide 
rose  high  enough  to  float  the  boat.  Fortunately 
for  them  also,  the  fog  lessened  somewhat,  and  thus 
they  were  able  to  direct  their  course  much  more 
easily.  8oon  they  were  on  the  waters  again,  row- 
ing along,  assisted  now  by  the  rising  tide,  and  thus 
finally  succeeded  in  reaching  their  destination. 

On  arriving  at  the  house,  they  learned  about  the 
search  of  Bart  and  his  father.  They  had  not  yet 
got  home.  Servants  were  at  once  sent  to  tell  them 
the  news,  and  it  was  at  the  very  lowest  point  of 
their  despondency  that  the  tidin^^d  c^uub  that  the 
lost  were  found. 


G8 


in\r,i  IN  Tin-:  woods. 


V. 


Fliijht  of  Solomon.  —  In  Ili(fin(j.  —  SoJo)non  is  hwh 
self  iKjain. —  Up  the  Itircr. —  TIn'oiKjh  the  Coun- 
try.—  A  lon<j  Drive. — Jn  Indian  ViUa(je.  —  An 
Indian   Guide.  —  Prcpatinij  for  the  Kvpedition. 

niFi  iov  \\\\ich  rat  and  IMiil  liad  I'olt  ovor 
tlu-ir  salcty  was  cortaiiilv  not  groator  tl:an 
that  oi"  liart,  as  the  lost  ones  wcro  at  Kmij:;IIi 
rostorod.  His  inlcnso  anxiety  Avas  lollowcd  l»y  a 
happiness  as  intense,  and  his  excited  lecdings 
resulted  in  a  soniewliat  slec^pless  night.  Hut  in 
tlio  wakel'ul  hours  of  (hat  night  liis  mind  was  taken 
up  hy  other  tilings  than  tht^  aflairs  of  Phil  and 
I'at,  and  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  earlier  ev(Mits 
ot'tluit  day,  to  Loch  Lomond,  and  to  Solomon.  lie 
still  wondtMvd  at  Solomon's  ])rceipitato  and  mys- 
terious retr(Mt,  and  obstinate  staving  away  from  tlu» 
fjouso.  It  lotiked  as  though  Solomon  did  not  want 
to  goon  the  exju'dition:  yet  he  felt  in  his  own 
heart,  that  without  Solomon  the  expiMlition  would 
lose  its  chief  charm.  Conseipiently  Solomon  must 
go.  IJut  how  could  he  oviM'conu^  ins  ohjections? 
It  would  be  necessary  to  sco  Iiini  at  once,  to  drivo 


FTjnnT  or  soi.omon. 


69 


out  to  Locli  riOinoiul  ;is  early  ns  possiMo   tlu^  noxt 


moriir.ip;. 


Tlio  noxt  morning'  lio  was  np  early  in  spite  of 
liis  sle(>pless  liiglit,  and  swallowini;*  a  lew  hasty 
nioutlif'ulrt,  he  hurried  to  the  hain  to  see  Jihout 
harnessinjj;  the  horse.  'Vho  harness  was  ])ut  on, 
tiie  horse  was  already  stancHng  hetwecn  tlu*  slialts, 
Jiart  was  wati'hing-  the  preparations  impatiently, 
standing  in  the  doorway  of  the  barn,  when,  sud- 
denly, he   I'elt  his  siiouider  touched. 

Ill'   turned  at  onet\ 

Jle   stood   thunderstnick  ! 

Vor  there,  elose  beside  him,  full  before  him,  was 
no  otIuM-  than  tlu^  actual  real  botlily  j)reseneo  of 
SoIt)mon  himself  ,  * 

Jiart  was  so  amazed,  that  for  some  time  he  could 
not  utter  one  single  word. 

**  Solomon  !  ''  he  exclaimed  at  last. 

At  this,  Solomon  held  u|)  both  hands  with  a 
warning  gesture  and  a  face  full  of  fearful  a|)pre- 
hension.  'I'he  look  and  g(\sture  Wi)uld  have  been 
in  every  way  appropriati*  to  some  criminal  hiding 
frt»m  the  law,  and  fearful  of  discovery;  but  it  was 
utterly  out  of  placi»  in  one  so  virtmms  and  so 
honoriMl  as  the  vciuM'able  Solomon.  This  incon- 
gruity was  felt  by  Hart,  and  only  added  tw  his 
amazement. 

"  When  did  yon  eonn»  ?  " 

Solomon  retreated  behind  the  door,  dragging 
Bart  after  iiini. 


70  FIRE   IN   THE  WOODS. 

"  Last  niglit,"  he  answered. 

"Lastniglit?     How?" 

"  I  '.valkerl  ebery  step  —  I  did." 

"  Walked  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ebery  step.     1  rund  away,  y{;ii  fcwow." 

"  Ran  away  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Solomon's  eyes  rolled  wildly;  he  looked  all 
around. 

"  DrefTul  doins  out  dar.  DrefTul  i)laee.  An  dar's 
no  noins  what  would  liab  ebber  become  ob  me  ef 
you  didn't  liab  come  yesterday.  I'd  been  a  pinin 
an  a  whinin  in  Gypsum  bondage,  but  couldn't  get 
away.  She  kept  tight  hole  ob  me,  —  mine,  I  tell 
you,  —  an  she'll  be  arter  me  to-day,  mighty  quick, 
—  ony  you  keep  me  lijd,  Mas'r  Bart.  Don't  gib  nie 
up  ;  don't  let  her  take  me." 

"She?  Pier?"  replied  Bart,  to  whom  all  this 
was  quite  unintelligible.  "  What  do  you  mean? 
What  woman  are  you  speaking  of?  " 

"  Black  Betsy,"  said  Solomon,  with  a  groan  and 
another  i'earful  roll  of  the  eyes. 

"  Black  Betsy?  Why,  what  has  she  to  do  with 
you  ?  "  asked  Bart,  in  wonder. 

"  Why,  she  my  wife,  you  know." 

"Your  wife?  Your  what  ?  Your  wife?"  cried 
Bart.  "  What  !  Black  Betsy  !  You  married  to 
Black  Betsy  !  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  by 
this  ?     When  were  you  married  ?     Last  week  ?  " 

"  Ben  mar'd  ober  twenty  year,"  said  Solomon, 
dolefully. 


IN   HIDING.  71 

Tliis  was  a  period  of  renioto  anti(|iiity  with 
wliicli  Burt  liad  no  connection,  and  he  could  only 
listen  in  amazement  to  Solomon's  strange  and 
startling  disclosure.  He  had  never  heard  of  this 
before.  lie  had  no  idea  that  Solomon  had  a  wife, 
or  that  Black  Betsy  had  a  husband.  lint  this 
thing  re(|uired  examination,  and  meanwhile  the 
liorse  was  all  ready.  As  lor  the  horse,  he  could 
only  give  orders  to  have  him  taken  out,  and  then 
he  was  able  to  bestow  his  undivided  attention 
upon  Solomon. 

"  Ben  mar'd  mor'n  twenty  year,"  replied  Solomon, 
dolefully.  "  An  you  nebber  see  sech  a  strorny 
creetur  in  all  your  born  <lays.  Fight  ?  Why,  dat 
ar  woman  did  nullin  but  fight  from  morn  "to  night, 
all  de  vear  roun.  An  drunk?  Whv,  she  nebl>er 
sober,  night  or  day;  an  de  life  she  led  me  !  Beat? 
Why,  she  beat  me  black  and  blue;  so  I  nuid  off 
to  sea,  and  a  bressed  ting  it  was,  for  I  ben  dead 
an  gone  long  ago.  Den  I  lieerd  she  gone  t)if 
Boston  way,  an  I  come  back  ycr,  an  den  went  to 
de  Cadmy.  Well,  I  got  a  mar'd  darter  out  Loch 
Lomon  way,  an  I  come  vim*  dis  time  to  si'c  her  and 
do  chil'en  ;  an  dar  was  IJctsv.  She  nabbed  me. 
She  beat  my  life  out,  made  mv  a  slabe,  and  I  done 
inifKn  but  grub  about  ebber  since  I  come  yar. 
Beat?  Why,  ebery  day  she  jtound  me  to  a  jelly. 
Clar  if  she  didn't  !  An  de  way  she  did  lay  dat  ar 
big  broomstick  ober  dis  ole  head.  De  sakes,  ony 
to  tink  ob  it." 


72  FIRE   IN   THE  WOODS. 

From  all  of  which  Bart  learned  that  Black  Betsy 
was  the  wife  of  Solomon;  that  her  character,  accord- 
ing to  his  showing,  was  by  no  means  tliat  gentle, 
and  affectionate,  and  motherly  one  wliich  he  had 
supposed  it  to  he  ;  that  her  life  was  disorderly,  and 
her  conduct  outrageous  ;  that  she  was  in  the 
habit  of  getting  drunk  ;  that  Solomon  had  to  nin 
away  from  her  years  ago,  and  become  an  exile  and 
a  wanderer;  that  it  was  only  his  yearning  after 
his  daughter  that  had  drawn  him  back  ;  that,  on 
meeting  his  daugliter,  he  had  found  himself,  to  his 
horror,  once  more  in  the  presence  of  his  merciless 
wife,  who  had  at  once  seized  him,  n})])ropriated 
him,  beaten  him,  and  reduced  him  to  a  state  of 
abject  slavery.  From  this  slavery  ho  had  just 
escaped.  lie  now  appeared  before  Bart  in  the 
attitude  of  a  fugitive  slave,  dreading  discovery 
and  capture,  im])loring  Bart's  sympathy  and  assist- 
ance, and  eager,  above  all  things,  to  fly  far  away, 
and  follow  the  ibrtunes  of  the  boys  on  a  new 
expedition  ;  once  more  to  join  the  ranks  of  the 
B.  0.  W.  C. ;  once  more  to  ofhciate  as  Grand  Pan- 
jandrum; once  more  to  furnish  forth  the  ban(|uet ; 
once  more  to  sail  under  the  orders  of  Captain 
Corbet. 

Solomon's  p(>siti(»n  was  a  truly  painful  on(»,  and 
excited  l^art's  profoundest  sympathy  ;  but  there 
were  other  things  in  his  position  which  were  not 
altogether  painlul.  In  the  first  place,  ho  was 
delighted  to  find  that,  whatever  the  reason  might 


I 


SOLOMON   IS   HIMSELF   AGAIN. 


73 


I 


be,  Solomon's  eagerness  to  set  forlli  upon  the  ex- 
pedition was  equal  to  his  own,  if  not  greater.  In 
the  second  ])lace,  Solomon  wislied  to  remain  in 
hiding,  and  implored  Bart  to  conceal  him  and  keep 
his  secret.  So  Bart  found  himself  suddenly  called 
on  to  become  the  benefactor  and  protector  of  a 
cherished  friend,  and  also  the  depositary  of  a  tre- 
mendous secret,  which  he  had  to  guard  like  his 
heart's  blood.  It  was  a  secret  which  nnist  bo  com- 
municated to  none,  not  even  to  Phil  and  Pat,  not 
to  his  father  or  mother,  in  fact,  not  to  any  living 
soul.  Fortunately,  the  servant  had  not  seen  Sol- 
ouion,  for  that  wary  old  party  had  discovered  him- 
self to  Bart  so  cautiously,  and  had  drawn  him  back 
into  the  barn  to  talk  to  him  so  carefully,  that  he 
had  not  been  seen. 

So  Bart  undertook  the  task.  lie  found  a  safe 
place  for  Solomon  behind  tlu^  hay,  and  at  regular 
intervals  through  the  day  he  brouglit  him  food 
and  drink.  Tliese  regular  intervals  occurred  so 
frequently,  that  Bai't  sjient  tlie  gnniter  part  of 
that  day  in  vibrating  like  a  pendulum  between 
the  house  and  barn.  Had  v^olomon  remained  in 
this  hi(ling-j>lace  for  any  length  of  time,  it  is  cer- 
tain that  Bart's  assiduous  attcMitions  and  air  of 
mystery  would  have  led  to  a  discovery  ;  but  as  it 
happened,  the  concealment  was  not  needed  for 
any  longer  time. 

All  that  day,  while  Bart  had  been  thus  perform- 
ing the  part  of  a  faithful  friend,  he  had  also  been 


f 


74  FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 

forwarding  to  tlio  utmost  tlio  preparations  for  the 
coming  journey.  Tliosc  preparations  consisted 
cliiefiy  in  fisliing-taekle  of  various  kinds.  One 
day  was  quite  suilieient  for  this,  and  so,  on  the  day 
after,  the  wliole  party  left.  Tlieir  departure  took 
plai'e  at  sunrise.  Solomon  had  lelt  helore  them, 
and  had  gone  in  the  early  morning  twilight  to  the 
steamer  in  which  they  were  to  emhark,  where  he 
had  concealed  himself  behind  a  row  of  flour  bar- 
rels. At  seven  o'clock  the  boat  started.  The 
boys  walked  forward,  and  there,  to  the  utter 
amazement  of  Pliil  and  Pat,  the  first  object  that 
met  their  eyes  was  Solomon.  They  had  only  heard 
Bart's  account  of  his  unsuccessful  visit,  and  had 
given  him  up.  But  now  he  appeared,  radiant, 
joyous,  ecstatic  ;  and  though  a  large,  white  smouch 
was  over  his  right  cheek,  caused  by  his  lying 
down  with  his  face  pressed  against  a  flour  barrel, 
yet  that  white  spt)t  did  not  at  all  detract  from  the 
exultant  and  trium])liant  expression  that  over- 
spread his  face.  His  little  black  beads  of  eyes 
twinkled  with  deliglit;  his  legs  went  hopping  up 
from  the  deck  in  all  directions;  and  he  would 
certainly  then  and  there  have  indulged  in  a  real, 
original,  genuine,  ])Iantation  break-down,  had  not 
rheumati/  gently  reiuinde(l  him  that  there  were 
limits  to  the  exercise  of  his  muscular  ])owers. 

The   route  which   they  took  to  the  ]5ay  de  Cha-  ■< 

leur  was  a])parently  a  roundabout  one  ;  but  in 
reality    it   was  the  shortest  way   to  get  to  their 


I 

■  i 

J 


t 


UP   TFIE    RIVER.  75 

destination.  First  they  went  up  tlie  river  St. 
John,  and  after  a  time  they  intended  to  turn  off 
into  tlie  country. 

As  they  sailed  up  that  beautiful  river,  they 
gazed  with  admiration  upon  the  varying  scenes 
that  opened  upon  tlieni  every  moment.  With  that 
river  and  its  features  Bart  was  quite  familiar; 
but  the  others  had  never  seen  it  before,  and  were 
never  tired  of  looking  out  upon  the  surrounding 
valley.  First  of  all  they  found  themselves  in  a 
narrow  gorge  shut  in  by  precipices.  Emerging 
from  this,  they  entered  a  broad  expanse  of  water 
looking  like  an  extensive  lake.  Traversing  this, 
the  river  narrowed  again,  and  the  sheet  of  water 
ran  on  before  their  eyes  in  a  straight  line.for  many 
miles,  with  high  hills,  some  wooded,  some  culti- 
vated on  either  side.  Passing  on,  they  left  this 
behind  ;  and  now  the  course  of  the  river  was  a 
winding  one,  leading  them  on  amidst  varied  sce- 
nery of  high  hills  and  fertile  valleys.  Beyond 
this,  again,  the  high  hills  departed,  and  a  broad 
extent  of  mea(h>w  land,  dotted  with  groves  and 
orchards  and  white  farm-houses,  and  covered  over 
with  luxuriant  vegetation,  spread  away  on  every 
side  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  Here  the 
scene  was  not  so  varied  as  it  had  been  at  first, 
but  it  was  rich  and  glorious,  showing  to  them  a 
favored  land,  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey. 
This  rich  and  fertile  land  continued  till  the 
steamer  stopped  at  Fredericton. 


76  FIRE  IN   THE   WOODS. 

Here  they  passed  the  night,  and  hired  a  car- 
riage to  take  them  to  tlie  River  Miramichi,a  place 
which  hiy  on  the  way  between  Fredericton  and 
the  Bay  de  Chaleur. 

Oil  the  following  morning  they  crossed  the 
ferry,  and  after  a  short  drive  they  reached  an- 
other river,  a  branch  of  the  St.  John,  which  re- 
j(3ices  in  the  name  of  the  Nashwaak.  The  river 
was  small,  but  they  thought  it  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  that  they  had  ever  seen.  High  hills 
covered  with  forests  arose  on  everv  side,  now 
coming  up  close  and  shutting  in  the  waters,  again 
3ceding  and  leaving  rich  meadow  lands,  through 
which  the  river  flowed  with  many  a  winding. 

At  midday  they  stopped  at  a  pretty  little  inn  by 
the  road-side,  and  beguiled  the  time  during  which 
they  had  to  wait  for  dinner  by  trying  their  hands 
at  trouting.  Bart  and  Phil  caught  two  small  trout 
apiece ;  Pat  hooked  one  ;  while  Solomon  actually 
landed  a  salmon  —  an  event  which  created  intense 
excitement  in  the  whole  party. 

In  the  evening  they  reached  another  pl.ace, 
where  they  stopi)ed  for  the  night.  The  next 
day  they  resumed  their  journey,  and  in  the  after- 
noon arrived  at  the  village  of  Chatham,  which  is 
situated  on  the  banks  of  the  River  Miramichi. 

And  now  the  boys  made  a  discovery,  which, 
strangely  enough,  had  not  suggested  itself  before. 
It  was  the  simple  fact  that  they  had  started  alto- 
gether too   soon.     This  was  the  third  of  August, 


THROUGH   THE    COUNTRY.  77 

but  the  Rawdons  and  Tom  would  not  meet  tliem 
until  the  fifteenth.  Tliere  was  therefore  nearly 
a  fortni^lit's  time  on  their  hands.  No  thouglit  of 
regret,  however,  arose  in  tlie  minds  of  any  of 
them  ;  but  the  fact  that  they  had  so  much  time  to 
spare,  at  once  set  them  all  to  work  to  contrive 
some  way  of  enjoying  themselves.  Various  sug- 
gestions were  made.  One  was,  that  they  should 
visit  tlie  different  settlements  in  all  the  country 
around  ;  another,  tliat  they  should  go  straight  to 
Shippegan,  get  a  schooner  or  a  fishing-boat,  and 
explore  the  Bay  de  Chaleur.  Both  of  these  plans, 
however,  were  rejected,  in  favor  of  the  superior 
attractions  of  a  third  plan. 

This  was,  to  plunge  into  the  woods,'  wander 
about,  fish,  explore,  and  rough  it  generally.  They 
could  take  a  little  stock  of  provisions  with  them, 
but  trust  chiefly  to  the  fish  which  they  might 
catch.  They  could  build  camps,  and  sleep  in 
them,  and  cook  their  fish  themselves  by  their  own 
fires.  Bart  spoke  to  the  landlord  about  the  feasi- 
bility of  this  plan,  and  that  worthy  a])proved  of 
it  highly,  but  told  them  that  they  would  have  to 
take  some  Indian  guide  with  them. 

Had  the  guide  been  English,  Irish,  Scotch,  or 
American,  the  boys  would  probably  have  felt  some 
objections ;  but  being  an  Indian,  the  idea  had 
overpowering  fascinations  for  them.  There  was 
a  dash  of  romance  about  an  Indian  guide  that  lent 
additional  attractions  to  the   proposed  excursion. 


78  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

The  landlord  informed  them  that  there  waR  an  In. 
dian  settlement  opposite,  and  that  if  they  went 
over  there  they  mig-ht  find  a  guide,  and  make  a 
bargain  with  him. 

All  this  was  settled  on  the  evening  of  the  day  in 
which  they  had  arrived,  and  early  on  the  follow- 
ing morning  they  crossed  the  river  on  a  visit  to 
the  Indian  settlement,  in  search  of  a  guide. 

The  Indian  settlement  was  not  a  very  extensive 
one.  It  consisted  of  about  a  dozen  wigwams. 
These  camps  care  constructed  of  poles  set  together 
in  a  conical  shape,  and  covered  over  with  birch 
bark,  a  substance  that  with  tliem  is  made  to  serve 
a  wonderful  number  of  purposes.  On  entering 
the  settlement,  a  number  of  dogs  came  up  and 
smelt  them  very  deliberately.  They  saw  a  num- 
ber of  children,  who,  at  their  approach,  darted 
inside  the  nearest  camp.  Old  squaws  were  busy 
cooking.  One  or  two  Indians  were  engaged  in 
making  baskets.  The  whdle  scene  had  a  peaceful, 
primitive,  and  romantic  character.  It  was  clean, 
too ;  for  though  an  Indian  camp  has  no  architectu- 
ral pretensions,  yet  it  rarely  gives  forth  those 
overpowering  odors  which  are  encountered  on 
approaching  many  of  the  houses  of  the  more  civ- 
ilized races. 

An  Indian  advanced  to  meet  the  boys. 

"  Good  day,  brother,"  said  Bart ;  for  in  this  coun- 
try it  is  the  fashion  to  address  an  Indian  by  this 
fraternal  title. 


AN  INDIAN   GUIDE.  79 

"  Good  day,  brodor,"  said  the  Indian,  in  a  friend- 
ly way. 

He  was  rather  old,  fearfully  wrinkled,  and  his 
lon^,  coarse  hair  reached  to  his  shoulders.  As 
Bart  looked  at  him,  it  struck  him  that  this  man 
would  be  a  most  desirable  guide  ;  his  age  made 
him  trustworthy,  while,  at  the  same  time,  his  sturdy 
frame  and  sinewy  limbs  sliowed  that  he  possessed 
all  the  powers  of  endurance  that  might  be  desired. 

With  these  thoughts  Bart  made  known  to  him 
the  object  of  his  visit.  As  he  sf)oke,  the  other 
Indians  listened  with  much  interest,  and  addressed 
remarks  to  one  another,  accom[)anied  with  glances 
at  the  boys,  which  seemed  to  afford  them  great 
amusement ;  for  smiles  came  over  their  grave 
faces,  and  some  of  the  younger  squaws  giggled, 
and  numbers  of  little  heads  wore  pokcnl  out 
through  the  doors  of  several  wigwams,  and  num- 
bers of  little  sparkling  black  wild  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  visitors  to  the  camp. 

The  Indian  whom  they  had  accosted  thought  for 
some  time  over  Bart's  question,  and  then  ad(b'essed 
some  remarks  to  the  others.  Some  conversation 
followed,  which,  of  course,  was  not  intelligible  to 
the  boys,  since  it  was  carried  on  in  the  language 
of  these  Indians.  At  length  the  one  whom  Bart 
was  talking  with  informed  him  that  he  would  be 
willing  to  go  himself  as  guide. 

"  Me  go ;  me  go  ;  takum  you  troom  wood.  Mo 
good  guide,  fus  rate ;  go  often.     My  name  Sam." 


80  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

At  this  Bart  was  overjoyed. 

"You  wantum  slioot?"  asked  the  Indian. 

"  No/'  said  Bart,  with  a  feeling  of  intense  re- 
gret, "  only  to  fish." 

"  Berry  well,  fishiim ;  all  same.  Me  show  all 
aboutum.     When  you  go  ?  " 

Bart  said  that  he  wanted  to  set  out  that  very 
day,  if  he  could. 

"  Me  all  ready,"  said  Sam.  "  Go  now,  or  to-mor- 
row ;  all  same." 

Upon  this  Bart  said  that  they  would  go  back  to 
get  their  things,  and  return  by  noon,  when  they 
might  all  set  out  together. 

They  now  went  back  and  gathered  together 
the  things  that  they  considered  necessary.  The 
Indian  went  over  with  them.  After  further  con- 
versation Avith  Sam,  Bart  thought  that  it  would  be 
better  to  drive  for  about  twenty  miles,  and  then 
take  to  the  woods.  That  would  save  them  a  long 
and  useless  tramp,  and  bring  them  at  once  to  the 
very  scene  of  action. 


A  LONG  DRIVE,  AND  A  LONG  WALK.      81 


I 


VI. 

A  long  Drive,  and  a  long  Walk.  —  TJie  wild  Woods. 

—  An  Encampment.—-  The  blazing  Fire.~Lo! 
the  poor  Indian.  -  The  Wolf  and  the  Watch-dog. 

—  The  Spring  of  the  Wild  Beast.  —  Solomon  to  the 
Rescue.— A  light,  and  a  Flight. 

'FTER  a  drive  of  about  twenty  miles,  they 
came  to  a  place  where  the  road  turned  off 
towards  the  east.  They  had  been  heading 
thus  ftir  in  a  northerly  direction,  and  at  this  turn- 
mg-off  place  a  path  went  from  the  road  in  the  same 
northerly  direction  in  which  it  had  gone.  At  this 
place  they  got  out  of  the  wagon,  and  prepared  to 
follow  their  guide  into  the  woods.  Each  one  took 
the  load  which  he  had  already  made  up  for  him- 
self,  and  the  wagon  then  returned. 

They  did  not  care  to  burden  themselves  too 
greatly  upon  this  expedition,  and  so  the  load  which 
each  one  took  was  as  light  as  possible.  Bart,  Phil 
and  Pat  had  each  a  basket  slung  from  the  neck' 
and  a  fishing-rod.  In  each  basket  was  a  parcel  of 
ham  sandwiches,  which  they  had  procured  at  the 
mn,  with  the  intention  of  using  them  as  a  kind  of 
relish,  in  addition  to  their   ordinary  wood   fare 

6 


82  FTUE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

Solomon  contented,  liinisolt*  witli  a  basket  only. 
His  fishing  Jii)j)ariitus  he  carricMl  in  his  pocket.  Ho 
wasn't  gwine  to  Ixxlder  his  oie  head,  hi'  said,  with 
dom  poles  —  he  could  cat  one  in  the  wo(  Is  when 
lie  wanted  one,  and  thiow  it  away  when  he  got 
tired  of  it.  Solomon's  years  seemed  to  he  adverse 
to  his  taking  ]»art  in  an  expedition  like  this,  hut  in 
spite  of  this  he  waddled  along  quite  as  fast  as  any 
of  them.  One  [)recaution  he  had  taken  which  none 
of  the  rest  had  considered  necessary,  and  that  was, 
to  bring  with  him  a  check  shawl,  which  IJart  had 
lent  him.  This  he  did  for  fear  of  his  ever  watch- 
ful enemy,  the  rlu>umati/.. 

The  path  was  at  first  very  well  beaten;  but  after 
about  a  mile  or  so,  it  gradually  faded  aw  ay,  and  the 
track  that  they  followed  after  this  was  so  faint  as 
to  be  scarcely  discernible.  The  woods  consisted 
chiefly  of  pine  trees,  with  birch  and  maple  inter- 
nii.xed.  None  of  these  trees  were  very  large,  and 
they  did  not  see  any  of  those  forest  giants  which 
had  met  their  view  in  other  phu^es.  In  simie  [>lace8 
the  underbrush  was  very  dense,  but  in  other  places 
there  was  scarcely  a  Sometimes  the   ground 

was  quite  bare  and  slippery  with  the  accumuiaiion 
of  pine  8[)ires  that  had  fidlcn  there;  again,  they 
came  to  immense  growths  of  fern ;  and  yet  again 
to  the  young  growth  of  the  forest  trees,  spiinging 
in  wild  luxurianct ,  all  tangled  an<l  matted  together. 

At  length  even  the  faint  outline  of  a  path  which 
they  hud  been  traversing  for  some  time  liided  away, 


^^^^^^amtm  ■  I  ^TPP^w 


THE   WILD   WOODS.  83 

and  they  wiilk(3<l  on  after  the  guide,  witlioiit  fol- 
lowinj;-  any  patli  at  all.  The  la.ri  was  quite  level. 
They  Ibund  no  hills,  and  no  rocks  even.  Sometimes 
a  fallen  tree  lay  in  iront  of  them,  but  it  was  never 
of  sullicient  size  to  create  any  ol)8tacle.  The  chief 
irrej^ularities  in  the  ground  were  caused  by  an 
occasional  mound,  that  schemed  to  mark  the  place 
where  a  tree  had  once  been.  Frc(iuently  thev 
came  to  little  brooks  that  babl)led  along  beneath 
the  trees,  their  borders  overgrown  with  moss; 
and  often  they  came  to  bogs  and  swamps,  in  some 
of  which  they  got  wet  enough  to  ucijuire  a  very 
good  Ibretaste  of  the  experiences  that  now  lay  be- 
fore them.  But  this  was  a  trifle  beneath  their 
consideration,  and  the  ease  with  which  .they  ad- 
vanced  filled  them  all  with  the  greatest  delight. 

At  length  they  came  tea  stof). 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  a  pine  forest.  Overhead, 
the  trees  interlaced  their  branches.  Beneath,  the 
ground  was  dry,  and  covered  with  slippciry  pine 
spires.  It  was  a  slight  declivity,  and  at  the  bot. 
torn  a  brook  ran  along.  No  better  place  could  be 
wished  than  this  for  a  inght's  rest. 

''  (lood  place  dis,"  said  Sam  ;  **  him  dry  —  alecp- 
um  safe  —  wakum  all  well." 

Tlie  boys  were  all  very  well  pleased  to  find  their 
march  at  an  cnid.  Tiu^y  had  been  o!i  the  steady 
tramp  for  at  least  two  hours,  and  had  pcMietrated 
far  into  the  forest.  Already  the  sky  above  wa« 
overcast,  and  the  forest  shaduB  were  deepening. 


84  FIRK   IN   TIIK   WOODS. 

All  thinp^H  ])ot()k{;n(j(l  tlio  }i]i{)roucli  of  evening  uinl 
of  ni}i;lit. 

Tliey  flung  down  tlii'ir  l»ask(;ta  an<l  poloH,  and 
thon  flung  lliciusclvtjs  down  too,  and  stretcdiod 
tlioir  W(iarv  iinihs  n|»on  tlie  ground.  Solomon  took 
ofT  his  basket,  and  put  it  down  in  a  nion;  l(Msurely 
fashion,  and  took  up  more  tiiue  in  dejiositing  his 
own  agecl  fViiuu^  upon  the  ground. 

"  Well,  boys,"  said  IJait,  afler  a  short  tiiue  of 
rest,  in  which  he  had  si  retched  iiimself  an<l  yawniMl 
to  his  heait's  conleiit,  "  it's  all  very  W(  II  to  sit 
down  and  rest,  but  it's  rather  dark  hero  under  the 
trees,  and  it's  going  to  be  darker,  and  we  can't  ex- 
pect to  g(!t  to  sleep  for  at  IcMst  a  couple  of  hours. 
How  c:in  wo  niiiiiiige  to  exist,  sitting  hert;  in  tla^ 
daik  ?  I'm  sure;  I  can't  for  on(^;  so  let's  make  a  fire." 

T\n\  pidposal  was  at  once  adopted  with  the  ut- 
most eageriu?ss.  They  had  all  felt  a  certain  degnMi 
of  cheerlessn((ss,  and  diil  not  know  ox  ^tly  what 
the  caUiM'  was;  but  now  they  saw  that  it  was  tln^ 
darkness,  and  tlujy  knew  that  any  frii^ndly  fir»;'ight, 
liowever  small,  would  make  all  the  dillerenc^e  in 
the  worhl. 

Thin'  now  distriltute*!  themselves  in  (bflVrent 
dire<rtions  for  the  sake  of  procuring  futd.  ITndor 
that  pine  forest  it  was  not  very  easy  to  find  any. 
At  length,  by  dint  oi  car(d'ul  search  and  unweary- 
ing industry,  tlu'y  succeeded  in  gathering  a  very 
respe(!tai)le  amount,  wlii<'h  they  deposited  in  a  heap 
near  tho  place  where  they  had  first  Bat  down.  The 


>' 


■<:> 


TIIK    ni.AZlXf!     FIRK.  85 

wood  wbioli  tlioy  tlius  p;atliorc(l  was  not  very  prom- 
ising. W!i;it  was  dry  was  rotten  twip:s,  and  wliat 
was  sound  was  {j^rccn  wood;  hut  tli('y<li«l  not  coui- 
[)l!iin.  In  order  to  liml  a  Incl  that  was  midway 
hotwccn  these;  two  extreiru^s,  they  went  off  at'tcir 
pine  l)niuelies.  'I'lies<i  they  rut  from  th(;  smalh'r 
trees  with  tlieir  pocket  knives.  '^Flien  they  pitli- 
orvA  some  ])ino  eones  iind  hils  of  (hy  hark,  and 
with  tli(!se  sueeeechMl  in  kindiin;:;  a  fire.  Over  tins 
they  put  the  dry  twi^s,  then  the  pine  hrMiiehes, 
and  last  of  all  tlui  j2:reen  wood.  The  fir(^  thus 
earelully  prepared  was  cpiite  a  sueeess;  the  (lames 
rose  up  merrily,  an<l  soon  the  I'ricjndly  hiaze  illu- 
uhikmI  the  ^atln^'in;:;  |i:l()oni. 

Artmnd  this  they  now  sat,  and  partook'of  their 
(ivenin;:;  repast.  The  repast  consisted  of  ham 
sandwichi's,  and  their  diink  was  water  t'n>m  the 
nei}i;IilMU'in;j:;  hrook. 

While  th(\v  woA'i)  seated  round  tlu^  firr;  they  no- 
ticed that  their  ^uid(!  drew  lorlh  a  hiack  Junk 
hottle,  and  hepm  to  take  litr^cj  and  frecpient 
(h*auj:;hts  from  it.  TIm^  smell  sIiowjmI  tlu^m  plainly 
that  it  was  spirits,  and  this  discov(»ry  lllleil  them 
all  with  uneasiiK^ss.  They  were  afraid  that  thiur 
^uide  would  make  himself  drunk  at  the  very  out- 
wet  of  tludr  expedition  ;  and  if  so,  what  could  they 
do  with  ii  <lrunken  Indian?  Sam  had  prohahly 
procure(l  the  villanous  '"fire-water"  when  ho 
crossed  with  them  to  Chatham,  hefore  starting, 
and  had  hro\ip:ht  it  iierci  with  tlio  (express  purpuso 
of  swallowing  the  whole  of  it  that  night. 


86  FIRE   IN   THK   WOODS. 

The  eirccts  of  tlio  intoxicating^  liquor  wcro  soon 
only  too  appsiront.  ITo  hejj^iin  to  talk  with  Kuch 
volnhiiity  that  his  ]>r()k(m  English  was  scarrcly 
int(!l!ip:il>lo.  As  far  as  thoy  could  make  out,  ho 
was  trying  to  t(3ll  thoni  ahout  the  hcst  |)Iac(;s  there 
were  for  fishinpj  and  shooting:;,  and  illustrating  his 
remarks  with  incoherent  anecdot(!s  ahout  various 
parties  which  he  had  accompanied  throu^^h  these 
forcists. 

But  as  ho  went  on  he  jj^rew  mon'  and  more  ex- 
citinl,  and  at  len^^th  pivc;  up  broken  Kn^lish,and 
spoke  to  them  in  his  own  laii^ua^c.  Of  course;  this 
made  him  totally  unint(dlifj;iltl(^  There  was  now 
something  that  S(;emed  to  tluMu  uncanny  in  the 
si^ht  of  tiiis  man,  as  he  sat  there,  half  out  of  his 
senses,  talkinj^  at  them  vociferously  and  voluhly 
in  his  unintelli^ihh^  jarp)n.  It  put  an  end  to  all 
their  own  conversation,  and  to  all  tiM'ir  i)l(?asure. 
It  was  had  (;nou|j,h  to  bo  here;  hut  to  h(;  hero 
with  a  drunken  Indian,  a  cnv/.y  savage,  was  too 
much. 

But  the  Indian  ke|)t  on.  TTo  still  applicil  the 
hotthi  to  his  lips  at  short  intervals,  and  continued  his 
wild  gahhh'  as  Ixd'ore.  At  first,  Ik;  ha<l  heen  sp(;ak- 
injjj  to  tluMn,  and  now  ho  s(;em(;<l  to  1m»  ad<lressing 
his  rt;marks  to  sparse;  for  his  eyes  were  not  any 
longer  turned  towards  them,  hut  wcM'i;  rolling  in 
all  directions, —  soUH'times  resting  on  the;  trees, 
sometimes  on  the  lire.  Tie  grew  nn»ro  and  more 
excited.      Holding    the   bottle    in   one   huudj   he 


I.O!    TFIK    POOH    INDIAN. 


87 


gwiiii«^  it  arwmd,  mihI  witli  tlu^  other  ho  made 
encM'gotic  gcsturt^s,  which  \\v  used  to  f^ivc  cmplisv 
His  to  his  sttitemt'iits.  His  voice  also  gra(hially 
chaij;;('(l.  At  first  it  was  natural ;  and  so  \ou^  as 
he  spoke  Knj:;lis}i,  there  had  heen  notiiing  in  it  to 
excite  particular  jittcMition ;  hut  when  lie  broke 
forth  in  his  nativi^  lanp;uiige,  it  pjrew  deei>er  and 
more  j^utfural,  and  strMn;j^(n*  and  more  l»arl)ari(\ 

The  K)nj^  Indian  monotones  and  drawl  hecame 
intensilicd  hy  him,  and  was  devcdopcd  into  some- 
thing that  sounded  like  a  strangi;,  uncNUthly  chant ; 
and  this  (i(!rce  sing-song  (diant  only  served  to 
increase;   the  wild  and   savage  efre(;t  of  tin;  whole. 

Here,  then,  were  the  hoys,  in  the  midst  of  the 
lonely  forest,  Wxri)  to  face  with  a  drnnkcif  Indian. 
The  fire  was  (himing  up,  and  its  hia/e  shone  u|)on 
the  Indiiin,  ami  threw  a  halelul  glow  upon  his 
dusky  fiice.  lie;  sat  op[)osit«!  to  thenj,  his  long 
hair  tangled  and  mnttetl,  his  hrows  contracted,  his 
bright,  Idiick  eyes  rolling  restlessly  in  their  orbits, 
th(;  dee|)-wriidvle(l  face  revealetl  with  startling 
distinctnc'ss  against  the;  diirk  background  of  the 
forest,  and  siiowing  all  tln^  incessant  working  of 
its  nnisides,  and  the  ra|>id  play  of  its  features. 
With  his  bottle  c]ut<duMl  in  one  hand,  and  the  other 
hand  making  fierce  gesticuliitions,  all  the;  time  he 
k(;pt  howling  out  unintidligible  sounds  in  a  whiin'ng 
guttural  —  a  monot(tn«»us,  but  furious  sing-song 
chant.  Such  was  the  scene  beflire  them;  and  it 
wus  riu  Wonder   that   it  excited  some  uneasiness. 


88  FIllE   IN    TTIE   WOODS. 

What  could  tlioy  do  ? 

They  did  not  know. 

VVIuit  would  this  Indian  do? 

This  also  they  could  not  know. 

There  was  nothing-  in  his  appearance  that  could 
reassure  them.  Every  moment  he  pjrew  worse 
and  worse.  If  this  sort  of*  tiling  went  on  much 
lon^(?r,  he  mijjjht  j;row  violent  enough  to  make  an 
attack  u[)on  them.  Already  Iks  looked  i'jir  more 
like  a  wild  heast  than  a  human  hein^.  The  mad- 
deninp^  I'umes  of  the  li(pu)r  nuiiiht  (excite  the  nat- 
ural ferocity  of  his  race,  ami  ur}j:;e  him  on  to  deeds 
of  horror.  'J'hey  ha<l  no  security  whatev(;r  against 
such  a  sus])icion,  and  no  means  whatever  of  de- 
fending tluMnselves  from  any  sudden  attack. 

As  for  Solomon,  \h)  had  been  watching  the  In- 
dian most  attentively  all  this  tinu;,  and  the  sight 
of  this  wild  associate  had  jiroduciMl  upon  him 
quite  as  strong  an  elfect  as  upon  the  hoys,  though 
of  a  totally  <lin'erent  kind.  Had  the  hoys  not  heeu 
so  fascinated  hy  the  Indian  as  to  be  unable  to 
withdraw  their  ga/.e,  and  had  they  looked  at  Sol- 
omon, they  would  hav(^  been  astonished  at  the 
change  that  had  suddenly  come  over  him. 

lie  had  Ikm'Ii  seated  a  little  in  the  background, 
in  a  lazy,  reclim'ng  posture,  when  his  atfention  was 
aroused  by  the  conduct  of  the  Indian.  l\i\  started 
up  and  sat  erect  I'or  a  time.  Then,  as  the  Indian 
grew  worse,  he  became  more  excited.  II(;  rose 
up  on  his  knees,  and  remained  in  that  position  — 


r1 


1 1 
; 


1'^ 


LO  !    THK    I'OOli    INDIAN.  89 

watclirul  und  ea^or.  At  leiij^lli,  ;is  tlu;  Iiidijin 
grew  iDon^  iurious,  tlio  exc'it(3in()nt  of  Solomon  iii- 
crcascMl  to  a  proportionate  dcp'ot^.  Ifo  r(»se  j^rad- 
iially  to  liis  loct,  and  stood  tlioio,  eager,  attentive, 
vigilant  ;  every  nerv(i  on  the  str(;teli  ;  liis  body 
advanced,  liis  arms  bent,  liis  lists  (;lin<;lied,  liis 
brows  eontraeted,  bis  lips  compress(Ml,  bis  (»yeH 
kindling  witb  a  dnil  gl(»w;  sind  as  tbe  flames  illu- 
mined bis  dusky  jiice  anil  figure,  tbey  revealed  a 
BJgbt  wbieb  was  (piite  as  impressive  as  tbat  otber 
spectacle  upon  wbi(di  tbe  (!yes  of  tbe  boys  were 
fiistened. 

Tbe  old  man  was  tianslormed.  He  was  no 
longer  tbe  sbambling,  free  and  easy,  indolent,  gab- 
bling, ridiculous,  afl'tictionate,  rbeumatiw,  potter- 
ing, and  ap])arently  feeble  old  Solomon,  wbom  tbo 
boys  bud  known  and  loved.  IFo  was  cbanged. 
He  was  anotbor  being.  As  tbe  feeble  woman  is 
roused  to  fren/y,  and  be<'omes  transformecl  at  tbe 
approach  of  <langer  to  her  child,  so  Solomon,  at 
tbe  suspicion  of"  possibb;  danger  to  bis  boys,  bis 
"  chickens,"  his  "  chiren,"  whom  he  loved  with  all 
the  strength  and  devotion  of  his  faithful  and  all'ec- 
tionate  old  heart,  drop|)ed  his  old  self  altogether. 
He  became  changed  into  tln^  fierce,  watchful,  vigi- 
lant champion  and  defend(M'  of  those  whom  he 
loved,  i'erbaps  tlien^  was  also  some  of  tbe  sav- 
agery of  his  African  bliuKJ,  and  the  natural  ferocity 
of  bis  race,  which,  long  sbnnbering,  bad  burst 
forth  at  that  moment,  at  tbe  impulse  of  his  brother 


90 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


savage.  Cut  as  it  is  difliciilt  to  iinngino  any  taint 
of  savap^ory,  liowcver  faint,  in  one  like  Solomon, 
his  ])rostMit  attitude  may  best  l)e  aecounted  for  on 
tlie  ground  of  his  living  watchfulness  over  the 
boys. 

At  any  rate,  tlicre  he  stood,  firm  as  a  roek,  and 
rigid  as  steel,  —  like  a  watch-dog  awaiting  the 
onset  of  the  wolf.  His  "  rheumatiz "  was  for- 
got in  the  excitement  of  that  treuK^ndous  moment, 
just  as  the  soldier,  in  the  ar<h)i'  of  battle,  is  uncon- 
scious of  dangerous  wounds. 

At  hmgth  a  crisis  a|)})roached. 

The  Indian  had  gone  on  as  before,  growing  more 
and  more  furious  everv  UionuMit.  Ilis  eves  lolled 
fearfully.  lie  had  drunk  most  of  the  contents  of 
the  bottle,  and  his  brain  was  on  fii'e.  Ilis  voice 
grew  hoarser  and  hoarser,  liis  gestures  more  vio- 
lent, and  Ilis  manner  more  threatening  ;  his  utter- 
ances were  still  of  that  sing-song  character  already 
mentioned,  but  they  had  now  become  almost  un- 
earthly in  their  intonations.  What  mad  thoughts 
there  might  be  in  his  mind  at  tliat  time  could  not 
be  known  ;  nor  could  they  imagine  the  exciting 
visions  that  were  wrought  in  his  distracted  brain. 
Whatever  they  were,  they  at  length  passed  away; 
and  his  eyes,  that  iiad  been  rolling  at  vacancy, 
now  steadied  themselves,  and  suddenly  fastened 
themselves  upon  the  boys  with  a  look  of  concen- 
trated hate  and  fury  that  was  terrible. 

So   terrible   was   that  look,   that   the   boys   all 


SOLOMON   TO   THE    RESCUE. 


91 


\ 


shrank  back  in  liorror.  Tlioii  they  started  up  to 
their  feet,  and  stood  close  top:ether,  in  silence, 
each  nervinjT^  his  younp^  heart  for  the  comin}i^  strug- 
gle, which  now  seemed  imminent.  As  they  thus 
stood,  they  were  on  a  line  with  Solomon;  hut  their 
attention  was  so  occupied  with  the  Indian  that 
they  neitiier  thought  of  him  nor  saw  him. 

"  Let's  stick  together,"  said  Bart  at  length  in 
hurried  tones  — ''  it's  our  only  chance." 

"  Stick  it  is,"  said  Pat,  who  had  recovered  his 
coolness,  "  through  thick  and  thin." 

Phil  said  nothing,  but  stood  his  ground  with  the 
others,  and  waited. 

The  movements  of  the  boys  had  excited  the 
Indian  still  more.  A  furious  cry  esca*[)ed  him. 
He  looked  at  them  for  a  moment,  and  then  moved 
to  the  right,  and  flung  his  bottle  into  the  fire.  The 
spirits  poured  out,  and  the  bla/.e  threw  a  bluish, 
ghastly  glare  over  the  scene.  Then  the  madman 
gave  a  terrible  yell,  and  rushed  towards  the  boys. 

The  boys  saw  him  coming.  They  stood  firm. 
They  gathered  U})  all  their  strength. 

But  suddenly  a  dark  shadow  darted  forward, 
and  a  dark  figure  flung  itself  against  the  Indian. 

It  was  Solomon.  Watchful,  eager,  fierce,  he  had 
waited  for  the  onset,  and  as  the  Indian  advanced 
he  made  liis  s])ring.  Rushing  upon  him,  he  struck 
him  on  the  side,  and  the  onset  was  so  unexpected 
that  the  Indian  had  not  time  to  guard  against  it. 
lie  fell  to  the  ground.     In  a  moment  Solomon  was 


1 


92  FIRE  IN  tup:  woods. 

upon  him.  Ho  twined  his  legs  around  liim.  He 
grasped  the  savage  by  tlie  throat.  To  tliat  throat 
ho  clung  with  a  death  like  tenacity,  never  relaxing 
that  iron  grasp,  that  convulsive  grip,  but  clinging, 
holding,  tightening  his  clutch  all  the  more  as  iiis 
enemy  strove  to  shake  him  off. 

The  boys  stood  there  looking  on  in  speechless 
amazement.  They  recognized  Sohmion,  but  could 
scarcely  believe  their  own  eyes.  Where  had  Solo- 
mon gained  that  bounding  activity,  that  tremen- 
dous strength  and  energy,  which  now  availed  him 
even  against  the  madman's  fury?  Could  this  be 
Solomon  —  the  one  who  was  afraid  of  his  own  su 
perstitious  fancies  —  the  one  who  had  just  been 
in  miserable  thraldom  to  a  drunken  wile  ?  It 
seemed  incredible.  Yet  that  this  was  Solomon 
himself  they  saw  plainly. 

The  struggle  was  most  violent.  The  Indian 
gasped,  and  groaned,  and  writhed,  and  sought  to 
free  himself  from  the  grasp  of  his  assailant.  But 
Solomon's  grip  could  not  be  shaken  off.  He  devoted 
all  his  strength  to  that  one  thing,  and  did  not 
waste  any  of  his  energies  in  any  useless  efforts. 
The  Indian's  struggles  grew  weaker.  He  was 
suffocating  from  that  grasp  on  his  throat.  Had 
he  been  younger,  he  might  have  overjunvered  Solo- 
mon ;  but  he  was  an  old  man  himself,  ])erhaps  quite 
as  old  as  Solomon,  and  therefore  he  was  not  so 
superior  in  strength  as  nn'ght  be  supj)osed. 

And  now  a  mighty  feeling  of  triumph  swelled 


SOLOMON   TO   TIIK    IlESCUE. 


93 


thronp^li  Solomon'a  hoart,  and  chased  away  tlio  fu- 
rious impulse  tiiat  had  animated  him  to  tin's  assault. 
The  f'aintint;-  elVorts  and  the  relaxinj;-  limhs  of  his 
enemy  showed  that  the  victory  was  his.  A  softer 
feeling  now  came  over  him,  mingling  with  his  tri- 
umph—  he  thought  of  the  boys  whom  ho  had 
saved. 

He  turned  his  head  and  raised  himself  slightly. 

"  Nehher  you  fear,  chil'en,"  he  said  —  "ho  do 
you  no  harm  now." 

Suddenly  the  Indian  made  one  last  convulsive 
effort.  Had  St)lomon  not  been  speaking  to  the 
boys  he  ct)uld  have  resisted  even  this  last  throe  of 
despair:  but  as  it  was,  his  attention  was  for  the  mo- 
ment distracted,  an<l  he  was  taken  by  sur'prise.  The 
Indian  tore  himself  loose  Irom  Solomon's  grasp, 
jerked  himself  u[)  by  a  nn'ghty  elfort  upon  one 
knee,  and  threw  himself  free  from  his  assailant. 
Both  were  now  on  their  feet,  lacing  one  another, 
panting  heavily.  Once  more  the  fury  of  the  fight 
raged  in  Solomon's  heart.  ITe  stood  pois(Ml  —  lie 
prepared  for  a  spring  The  Indian's  strength  lay 
in  his  madness;  t\ui  strength  of  Solomon  lay  in  his 
devotion  to  tlii^  boys  —  in  the  frenzy  of  his  love 
and  anxietv  for  their  safetv. 

The  bovs  came  foi-ward.  This  time  thev  would 
not  let  Solomon  fight  their  battle.  They  would 
ah'sist  him,  and  lend  all  their  united  strength  to 
crush  their  savage  assailant.  It  was  one  common 
impulse,  part  of  selfpreservation,  part  of  regard 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


1.4 


1.6 


V] 


<^ 


/2 


m 


e". 


j% 


<r2 


'^.v  ^^ 


/a 


>  > 


y 


/A 


^ 


«-■ 


f ..  ^^ 


94  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

for  Solomon,  tliat  animated  tliem,  and  they  sprang 
to  his  side  and  waited. 

All  this  was  the  work  of  a  moment. 

Another  moment  and  Solomon  would  once  more 
have  made  his  tiger-spring,  and  flung  himself  upon 
the  madman. 

Eut  that  moment  had  sufficed  for  the  Indian  to 
take  breath,  and  to  receive  a  new  impulse.  This 
time  it  was  not  hate  or  destructive  fury.  It  was 
terror.  The  terrible  struggle  from  which  he  had 
escaped  with  such  difficulty  had  given  a  new  turn 
to  his  frenzied  thoughts.  Fear  overmastered  him. 
A  stifled  exclamation  escaped  him.  lie  started 
back. 

Then  he  turned  and  ran. 

He  ran  for  his  life  ;  and  in  a  few  moments  he  had 
passed  out  of  sight,  and  was  lost  amid  the  gloom 
of  the  forest  and  the  night. 


. 


PASSING    THE   NIGHT.  95 


VII. 

Passing  the   Night  —  On    Guard.  —  TJie  watchful 

Sentinel. —  Plans.— Through  the  Woods.  — Tlie 

winding  liiver.  — Fishing.  — The  overcast  Shj. 

—  Arrival   of  Pat   with   startling    Tidings.-^ A 

useless  Search. 

^IrJOR  a  fow  moments  the  whole  party  stood 
JPp  confounded  by  this  new  and  sudden  turn 
Ct     whicli  events  had  taken. 

"He's  gone,  anyhow,"  said  Pat,  who  was  the 
first' to  break  the  sih^ice. 

The  otlier  boys  said  nothing.  As  for  Solomon, 
he  stared  for  a  few  moments  all  around,  and  then 
quietly  seated  himself  by  the  fire. 

"  Woll,  of  all  de  cur'ousest  an  strornarest  things !" 
he  exclaimed.  ''  Ef  dis  don't  beat  all  creation  hol- 
ler, den  I'm  a  niggar.  An  me  in  a  fight  — a  rail 
battle  ;  no  play,  mind  you  ;  but  a  fight  for  life  and 
def.     Clar  ef  I  can  understan  it." 

And  Solomon  buried  his  head  in  his  hands,  quite 
overcome. 

"Anyhow,"  he  resumed  after  a  pause,  "ye  see 
how  it  was,  chiren.     Dat  ar  demon  was  a  plungin 


96 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


an  a  jnmpin,  an  I  see  he  was  makin  for  you  ;  so  I 
'terminod  Td  liab  a  sliy  at  him.  Couldn't  stan  dat 
ar  noliow.  Ain't  a  fightin  man  ;  but  dat  ar  Ingin 
war  so  dreadful  aggravatin ;  mor'n  flesh  an  blood 
could  stan.  Anyhow,  I  did  gib  him  nulf  ob  it  for 
one  spell;  an  lie'll  tink  twicet  afore  he  tackle  any 
ob  us  agin." 

"I  never  was  so  astonished  in  my  life,"  said 
Bart.  "  And  how  you  did  pitch  into  iiim  !"  ho  con- 
tinued, admiringly.  "Why,  you  gave  a  leap  like  a 
tiger.  Down  lie  went,  with  you  on  top  —  at  his 
throat." 

iSolomon  laughed  long,  joyously,  and  uproarious- 
ly. ITe  chuckled,  he  giggled,  he  slapped  his  knees, 
and  finally  he  threw  himself  flat  on  his  back,  and 
lay  there,  laughing,  chuckling,  crowing,  and  mak- 
ing a  confused  medley  of  noises,  all  of  which  were 
intended  by  him  to  be  expressive  of  triumph  and 
exultation. 

"  Clar  ef  I  knoAV  what  ebber  did  git  hold  ob  me 
dat  time,"  he  said,  in  the  intervals  of  his  liuighter. 
"  Specs  I  mus  hab  gone  clean  mad  an  rabin  stract- 
ed.  Didn't  tink  dar  was  so  much  clar  fight  in  me. 
Ain't  such  a  rheumatic  old  nig,  arter  all.  Fight 
any  drunken  Ingin  on  de  liice  ob  de  erf.  Ki  yi ! 
Yep  !     IIo-o-o-o-o  !     Dat's  so." 

At  all  this  the  boys  looked  on  Avithout  saying 
anything,  wondering  at  the  chang(>.  Could  this 
be  the  same  man,  thought  Bart,  that  had  always 
8(  ?mcd  so  helpless?  whoso  "  rheumatiz  "  seemed 


CONSULTATION   FOR  SAFETY.  97 

always  to  prevent  tlie  sliglitest  exertion?  Could 
this  be  the  same  Solomon  who  allowed  himself  to 
be  ca})tured  by  a  parcel  of  Gaspereaiigian  boys  ? 
Could  this  be  the  same  man  whom  he  had  seen 
only  a  day  or  two  before,  cowering  and  cringing 
at  the  sight  of  an  angry  woman?  Was  the  Solo- 
mon over  whom  Black  Betsy  had  tyrannized  so 
remorselessly  indeed  the  same  (me  wlio  had  just 
flung  Iiiinsclf  at  the  tliroat  of  a  madman,  and 
overpowered  him?     It  seemed  incredible. 

Yet  it  waa  no  other.  Already  Solomon  was 
himself  again,  his  old  natural  self.  Already  he 
began  to  investigate  his  joints,  and  to  murmur 
doleful  anticipations  of  a  fresh  attack  of  rheuma- 
tiz.  But  tlie  boys  had  otlier  things  than  this  to 
tliink  of.  The  question  now  was,  how  to  pass  the 
night.  Tliey  did  not  feel  altogether  safe.  Tlie 
madman  who  had  just  threatened  them  had  fled  ; 
but  it  seemed  to  them  as  tliough  he  was  still  lurk- 
ing somewhere  near  them  in  the  shadow  of  the 
gloomy  forest,  waiting  his  chance;  waiting  till  they 
should  go  to  sleep,  so  that  he  might  rush  u[)on 
them  unawares.  If  they  wished  to  sleep  at  all,  it 
would  never  do,  tlu^y  thought,  for  them  to  sleep 
here  witl.  the  firelight  shining  u])on  them,  and 
revealing  them  to  the  gaze  of  their  enemy.  They 
must  seek  some  other  place. 

On  mentioning  this  to  Solomon,  he  objected  very 
strongly. 

"  Dar's  no  danger,  chil'en,"  he  said.  "  Dat  ar 
7 


'' 


:     ..^■ 


98 


FIRE  IN  THE  WOODS. 


Injun  won't  ebber  come  back  agin.  He  darsn't. 
He  nebber  forget  my  grip.  I  frikcnd  dat  ar  Injun 
away  forebbermo."  ^ 

"  0,  that's  the  very  reason  wliy  he'll  be  back," 
said  Bart.  "  He'll  wait  till  we're  all  asleep,  and 
then  attack  us.  He'll  make  a  sudden  spring  at 
you  first." 

"  No,  he  won't,"  said  Solomon;  "nebba.  He  don't 
do  dat  ar  wid  dis  chile." 

"  How  can  you  prevent  him  if  you're  asleep?" 

"  Cos  I  do.i't  'tend  goin  to  sleep  ;  dat's  how,"  said 
Solomon.  "  Got  him  dar,  anyhow.  Yah,  yah,  yah." 
'"What !  do  you  intend  to  watch?" 

"Jes  so.  I  pose  on  dis  yar  solemn  casion,  my 
spected  friends,  to  keep  de  fire  a  goin,  and  to 
hole  a  watch  an  i  guard  ober  de  party." 

"Do  you  think  we'd  let  you  do  that?"  said 
Bart.  "  Do  you  think  we'd  go  to  sleep,  and  leave 
you  to  watch  us  all  niglit?  No.  If  there's  going 
to  be  any  watching,  we'll  take  turns." 

"  Dat  ar  am  all  berry  well,"  said  Solomon,  with 
a  dignified  wave  of  his  hand,  "  stremely  well,  an 
,  proppa  for  ordnary  casiums  ;  but  dis  yar  casium's  a 
berry  strbrnary  casium.  Dar's  danger;  and  de 
man  dat's  goin  to  keep  watch  mus  be  able  to  face 
de"  enemy  in  a  fight.  Dat  ars  de  reason,  den,  why 
I  pose  to  keep  a  lookout.  I'll  set  heah,  keep  le 
fire  a  goin,  an  you  can  all  sleep  safe  an  sound. 
Dar's  no  use  for  you  to  set  up." 

"  But  you  must  sleep,"  said  Bart 


V 


*Jh 


THE   WATCHFUL   SENTINEL.  99 

"  0,  I'll  wake  you  up  early  in  de  mornin,  an 
hab  my  sleep  den.  So  now  don't  talk  no  more,  for 
I'm  a  goin  to  do  dat  ar,  an  watch  dis  bressed 
night." 

Some  further  conversation  followed,  in  which 
the  boys  insisted  on  watching  for  a  part  of  the 
time,  at  least.  They  were  so  urgent,  that  Solomon 
at  last  had  to  consent.  He  insisted,  howeVer,  that 
he  would  sit  up  during  the  first  part  of  the  night, 
as  the  danger  would  be  most  likely  to  take  place 
then,  if  it  took  place  at  all,  and  promised  to  wake 
them  towards  morning.  With  this  understanding 
the  boys  lay  down  by  the  fire,  and  in  spite  of  their 
recent  excitement,  they  soon  fell  asleep. 

Solomon  sat  there  by  tlie  fire  keeping  watch 
with  all  his  senses  on  the  alert.  No  danger  was 
there  of  this  faithful  old  sentinel  sleeping  at  his 
post.  The  very  possibility  of  danger  to  the  boys 
was  enough  to  keep  all  his  mind  wakeful  and 
attentive.     After  a  time  he  moved  back  a  little,  ^ 

and  rested  his  back  against  a  tree. 

The  hours  of  the  night  passed  on  slowly  and 
tediously.     The  boys  slept  soundly,  and  were  lost  s^,^: 

in  the  land  of  di-eams.  Occasionally  Solomon 
amused  himself  and  beguiled  the  time  by  going 
forth  and  collecting  sticks  for  the  fire.    The  flames  »  . 

smouldered  low,  and  the  sticks  that  Solomon  was 
able  to  gather  were  not  sufficient  to  kindle  them 
afresh  to  any  great  extent,  and  so  the  consequence 
was,    that  at  length   it  nearly   died  out.     It  was 


100 


FIRE   IN   THE  WOODS. 


profoundly  dark ;    but  still  Solomon  watclied,  and 
felt  no  inclination  to  sleep. 

He  had  promised  to  awake  tlie  boys  towards 
morning,  but  they  slept  so  soundly  that  he  had  not 
the  heart  to  keep  his  promise,  and  so  he  let  them 
sleep  on.  At  length  Bart  awoke,  and,  starting  up, 
he  looked  all  around.  It  was  early  morning  twi- 
light; the  sky  was  brightening  overhead,  and  the 
forms  of  the  forest  trees  were  visible  around.  As 
he  started,  Solomon  got  up,  and  walked  towards 
him. 

"Well,  Mas'r  Bart,"  said  he,  "all  right  so  far. 
De  Injun  gone  olf  Ibrebbamo." 

"  Why  didn't  you  wake  me  before?"  asked  Bart. 

"  De  gracious  sakes,  now,  chik)  !  "  said  Solomon  ; 
"  dar  wasn't  no  casium.  'Tain't  niornin  yet." 

"  Well,  you  lie  down  now,  and  go  to  sleep,"  said 
Bart. 

"  All  right,"  said  Solomon  ;  and  going  back  to  the 
tree  where  he  had  been  sitting,  he  curled  iiimself 
up  on  the  moss  at  the  foot  of  it,  and,  drawing  his 
shawl  over  his  head  and  shoulders,  was  soon  in  a 
souu  I  slumber. 

And  now  the  morning  advanced ;  slowly  the 
shades  of  night  faded  away,  unt;l,  at  length,  the 
day  dawnetl,  and  a  thousand  l)irds  awaked  the 
echoes  of  the  forest  in  all  directions,  and  filled  all 
the  air  with  a  flood  of  melody.  Bart  looked  up  at 
the  sky,  and  noticed  that  it  was  overcast.  There 
was  also  a  very  peculiar  appearance  there  which 


PLANS. 


101 


excited  his  attention.  There  seemed  clouds  over- 
head ;  hut  the  clouds  had  a  sickly,  yellowish  color, 
which  was  unlike  anythinfr;  that  he  had  ever  seen. 
Alter  a  short  time,  Pat  and  Phil  awoke,  and  Bart 
drew  their  attention  to  this.  They,  however, 
thought  nothing  of  it. 

''  It's  only  common  clouds,"  said  Phil. 

"Deed,  an  it's  a  good  sign,  so  it  is,"  said  Pat,  in 
his  usual  tone  of  confidence.  "  The  trout  bite 
wondherl'ul  whin  thev  see  a  skv  like  that  over 
tliim.     It's  lucky  for  us  we've  got  sicli  weather." 

Bart  had  his  doubts  about  this,  but  he  kept  them 
to  himself,  and  then  the  boys  began  to  consider 
what  they  had  better  do.  The  loss  of  their  Indian 
guide  made  a  change  in  their  circumstauees  of  a 
very  important  nature.  As  long  as  they  had  him 
with  them,  they  had  no  care  or  anxiety,  for  they 
knew  that  he  w(udd  take  them  to  all  the  best 
places  in  the  country.  But,  now  that  he  had  gone, 
what  ouglit  they  to  do  first? 

The  idea  of  going  back  occurred,  Init  it  was  at 
once  dismissed.  To  go  back  would  be  very  fa- 
tiguing, and  would  be  of  no  particular  use.  For, 
if  they  did  get  another  guide,  he  might  turn  out 
as  badly  as  the  one  whom  thev  had  lost;  and  be- 
sides,  their  experience  with  Sam  disgusted  them 
with  guides  and  with  Indians  altogether. 

"  If  I  only  had  a  compass,"  said  Bart,  "we'd  be 
all  right,  for  we  could  at  least  be  able  to  choose 
some  direction,  and  have  some  idea  of  where  we 


n 


102  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

went.     ]5ut,  as  it  is,  we  shall  have  to  wander  at 
random." 

'•  Sure  and  that's  tlie  very  best  way  there  is  to 
wandher,  so  it  is,"  said  Pat.  '•'  It's  a  mighty  sight 
better  to  go  stliroUin  along  as  you  like  than  it  is  to 
be  taggin  afther  a  big  drunken  Injin,  any  day." 

"  Yes,"  said  Phil,  ''  that's  the  best  way.  Let's 
go  strolling  along,  fishing  at  every  brook  we  come 
to,  and  enjoy  ourselves.  We  can  make  camps,  and 
if  we  come  to  any  pleasanter  place  than  usual,  we 
can  stay  there  for  two  or  three  days.  Why,  this 
is  the  very  best  way  of  enjoying  ourselves.  I'm 
sure  I  couldn't  imagine  anything  more  glorious." 

"  1  wonder  if  there  are  any  fish  up  that  little 
brook,"  said  Bart. 

"  Sure  an  we'd  bctther  try." 
"  One  of  us  had  better  stay  behind  with  Solo- 
mon," said  Bart. 

"  I'll  stay,"  said  Phil ;  "  I'll  get  some  sticks  and 
build  the  fire  again,  and  if  you  do  get  any  fish, 
we'll  be  able  to  have  some  for  breakfast." 

Upon  this,  Bart  and  Pat  prepared  their  rods, 
and  lines,  and  went  oft'  up  the  brook.  It  was  not 
very  large,  but  it  had  the  general  appearance  of 
a  good  trouting  stream ;  and  the  appearance  did 
not  deceive  them,  for  after  a  short  time,  to  their 
great  joy,  they  succeeded  in  hooking  ten  or  a 
dozen  very  respectable  trout,  with  which  they  re- 
turned to  the  "  encampment."  Here  they  found 
a  brisk  fire,  beside  which  Phil  was  sitting  awaiting 


\ 

I. 
I 


Y 


,,  THROUGH    THE    WOODS.  IQS 


their  rehn-n.  As  they  reached  tlie  place,  Solomon 
awoke  rom  his  ,mp,  and  joined  them  at  the  tire. 
1  hen  lollowcd  l.realdkst,  whicli  consisted  of  broiled 
trout,  and,  as  they  had  brought  plenty  of  salt  and 
pepper  m  their  baskets,  there  was  no  lack  of  relish 
anil  tlie  fish  was  pronounced  delicious. 

After  breakfast,  they  once  more  noticed  the  ap. 
pearauce  of  the  sky.     It  had  still  that  dull,  sickly 
yellow.sh  hue  which  had  first  struck  Bart's  atten-' 
tion.     Although  the  day  had  ad^•anccd  since  then 
the  sky  had  not  changed,  and  there  was  no  in- 
crease of  light. 

"  It's  smoke,"  said  Bart.     "  I  wonder  what's  the 
cause  of  it." 

"  f  *-*  ''■"°^''*  "'-e  liurnin,"  said  Solomon.  . 
t  womler  .f  it  i.,  anywhere  near,"  said  Phil. 
0.  no  !  "  said  Bart ;  "  it's  some  distant  fire  or 
other.     Perhar  ■  they're  clearing  land  " 

"  Bar's  alius  smoke  a  fioatin  about  dese  times  in 
de  woods,';  sa,d  Solomon.  "  Dey  keep  a  clearin 
an  a  clioppm  —  no  end." 

"  Sure  an  it's  all  the  betther  fer  us,"  said  Pat 

for  an  overcast  sky  is  the  thing  for  the  throut  • 

an  sure  they  niver  know  the  difference  whither  it's 

smoke  or  clouds,  so  they  don't,  an  they  bite  all  the 

same,  so  they  do." 

They  now  prepared  for  the  day's  work:  but  be- 

Z:T"'f'"'  -^"'^  *"'^'  ''^y  -^''^  *°  appoint 

Ondi'  meetnig,  in  ease  they  got  separlted. 

On  discussnig  tins  poM>t,  however,  they  soon  found 


104  FIRE    IN    THE   WOODS. 

that  tliey  were  not  in  a  position  to  appoint  any 
place  of  rendezvous,  since  no  one  place  was  known 
to  them  except  where  they  were  sitting.  They 
(lid  not  care  about  remaining  in  the  vicinity  of" 
tliis  place,  but  wished  to  ramble  on  at  leisure,  and 
at  liberty. 

"  Sure  an  there's  no  nade,"  said  Pat ;  "  we  can  all 
kape  widin  hearin  of  one  another,  so  we  can.'' 

"At  any  rate,"  said  Piiil,  "we  can  start  now, 
and  stay  by  one  another  as  long  as  possible.  If 
we  come  to  any  place  where  we  have  to  separate, 
we  can  easily  make  an  arrangement  to  come  back 
to  tliat  place." 

This  last  ]-emark  seemed  satisfactory,  and  as  it 
was  really  the  onlv  thing  that  they  could  do,  thev 
said  no  iuore  on  tlie  subject,  but  set  forth  at  once. 

They  walked  on  for  about  an  hour,  and  at  length 
emerged  from  the  pine  trees,  and  came  to  woods 
where  the  trees  Avere  largely  birch  and  maple. 
Thus  far,  their  ])rogress  had  been  very  easy,  as  the 
ground  under  the  pine  trees  was  smooth,  and  there 
was  very  little  underbrush.  At  this  place,  how- 
ever, it  became  more  difficult.  Small  trees  and 
underbrush  arose  on  every  side  in  great  profusion, 
and  the  ground  rose  in  a  succession  of  gentle  emi- 
nences, while  an  occasional  swamp  intervened. 
Still,  it  was  not  very  difficult  walking  even  there, 
and  the  chief  difference  w^as,  that  their  course  be- 
came much  more  circuitous.  Through  this  they 
wandered  for  another  hour  and  more,  without  find- 
ing any  place  that  was  at  all  suitable. 


1 1 
\ 

II 


Tiir:  wixDixf;  i.-ivkr. 


105 


At  Icngtli,   to  tlii'ir  great  joy,  they  found  tl)em. 
solves    upon    the    e<lge   „f  a   small   rivul(>t,  which 
was  not  more  than  forty  or  fifty  feet  in  width.     Its 
hed  just  here  was  strewn  with  pebbles  and  cobble- 
stones ;  but  farther  up  and   down,  they   saw  hol- 
lows and   deeper   places  in   the   river-bed,    which 
promised   some   sport.      Hero  thoy  i)repared    for 
action.    Phil  and  Pat  ofFored  to  go  down  the  stream, 
while    Bart   and    Solomon    could    go    up.     Before 
parting,  it  was  settled  that  they  should  come  back 
to  this    place.     On  the   other  side  of  the  stream 
•there  were  two  birch  trees  growing  close  together, 
which  would  serve  as  a   suflficient'landmai-k  to  en- 
able them  to  recognize  this  place  on  their  return; 
and  with   this  arrangement  the   two  parties  sep- 
arated, Phil  and  Pat  descending  the  strehm,  while 
Bart  and  Solomon  went  up  the  channel. 

Bart  and  Solomon  went  up  the  river-bod  for 
some  distance.  They  found  no  difficulty  in  going 
along,  for  the  stream  was  shallow,  ,nid  they  could 
wade  it  in  most  places.  Occasionally  they  came 
to  deeper  places,  which  thev  traversed  by  goin- 
round  thei;i.  At  length  they  reached  a  place  that 
looked  favorable  to  their  designs,  and  began  to  try 
them.  A  few  bites  rewarded  them,  and  two  or 
three  small  trout  were  soon  deposited  in  their  bas- 
kets.  They  now  began  to  enter  more  into  the 
spirit  of  the  occasion,  and  continued  slowly  as- 
cending the  stream,  stopping  sometimes  a  long 
while  m   soTie   particularly   good   place,  till  they 


106 


FIRE    IN    THE   WOODS. 


liad  exhausted  it,  and  tlioii  resiiniing-  their  tramp. 
Tlie  consequence  was,  that  their  baskets  soon  he- 
gan  to  be  uni)leasantly  lieavy,  and  they  liad  to  con- 
fine themselves  more  exchisively  to  one  spot,  and 
indulge  to  a  less  extent  in  tlieir  wanderings.  All 
this  time  these  two  had  had  no  occasion  to  keep  a 
lookout  on  each  other,  for  Solomon,  with  his  in- 
stinct of  fidelity,  had  no  other  idea  than  that  of 
8im])ly  following  F>art  wherever  he  went. 

All  this  time  the  sky  had  maintained  the  same 
yellowish  hue,  and  was  as  much  overcast  as  ever. 
Here  and  there  they  reached  places  where  the 
view  upward  was  more  extensive,  and  their  gaze 
could  connnand  a  larger  pait  of  the  sky.  They 
saw  rolling  clouds  whicli  seeme(l  most  umnistaka- 
bly  to  be  smoke,  and  tiiese  they  tliought  the  sure 
indications  of  some  fire,  which,  judging  from  these 
appearances,  was  larger  than  usual,  l^eyond  an 
occasional  glance  upward,  howi'ver,  and  a  stray 
remark,  these  a])pearanccs  excited  no  particular 
notice  on  the  })art  of  either  of  them. 

At  length  it  began  to  grow  somewhat  late,  and 
they  decided  to  return.  Their  long  march  and 
still  longer  fishing  excursion  had  greatly  fatigued 
them ;  and  in  going  back,  they  found  the  distance 
far  greater  than  they  had  supposed.  At  length 
they  recogniz(Ml  the  landmark;  and  here  they  both 
flung  themselves  wearily  down  upcui  the  bank,  and 
waited  for  the  return  of  the  others. 

For  a   long    time  they  waited  there.     It  grew 


ARRIVAL    OF    PAT. 


107 


later  and  later,  hut  tlicre  was  no  sign  of  either  of 
them.  At  length  tliey  saw  some  one  coming,  and 
as  he  drew  nearer  they  recognized  Wit.  lie  was 
very  much  out  of  breath,  and  soaking  wet  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  Wiiere's  Phil  ?  " 

Those  were  the  first  words  that  Pat  spoke,  and 
he  spoke  them  in  hurried,  anxious  tones. 

''  m\ !  "  cried  Bart.     '^  Why,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Hasn't  he  got  back  yit  ?  "  said  Pat,  with  some- 
tlung  like  a  wail. 

"  No,"  said  P>art,  as  a  dark  feeling  of  apprehen- 
sion came  to  him. 

^'Och,  thin,"  cried"  Pat,  "it's  fairly  heart-broke 
1  am,  so  I  am  ;  and  no  one  knows  what  Pve  sufl 
iered  this  blisse.l  day.  Sorra  one  o'  nie  knows 
what  has  become  of  him.  An  T'ye  b(>en  scourin 
the  whole  country  back'ards  an  for'ards,  an  yellin 
meself  hoarse,  so  that  1  can't  utther  one  blissed 
howl  more,  so  I  can't. 

At  these  startling  words,  all  Pat's  anxiety  and 
more  communicated  itself  to  IJart.  Uv  hastily 
questioned  Pat  about  PlnTs  disappc.irance. 

^'  We  wint  down,"  said  Pat,  "for  Wov  so  far  an 
we  came  to  one  of  the  ii,inest  holes  ivcr  was.  Wo 
fished  there  a  half  hour  an  more,  and  thin  Phil 
says,  says  he,  M'll  go,  says  he,  ov.v  b(>v(,nf/-_  io,. 
tiiere  was  a  moighty  big  rock  jist  tbrninst  us.  So 
he  wint  for  to  climb  the  rock,  and  he  says  '  Vm 
gum  furder  down/  says  he.    So  1  thought  iio'moro 


108 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


about  it,  but  wint  on  wid  rne  fishin.  It  wasn't  for 
iver  so  long  that  1  thought  of  liim  ;  but  at  last  I 
begins  to  fail  anxious,  and  wondhcM-s  to  meself 
what  iver  have  become  of  him.  So  I  started  off. 
I  didn't  climb  over  tlie  big  rock,  as  he  did,  but 
crossed  the  sthraim  and  wint  down  the  other  side. 
Well,  I  couldn't  see  a  sign  of  him.  1  called,  an 
yelled,  an  howled,  an  walked  iver  so  far  down  an 
back  agin  ;  an  that  same  I've  been  doin  iver  since, 
till  I  thought,  at  last,  he  might  have  somehow  got 
back  here.     An  he  ain't  liere." 

This  story  caused  terrible  anxiety.  Bart  at 
once  started  doAvn  the  stream,  and  reached  a  high, 
rocky  bank  covered  with  trees.  He  stood  here 
and  called.  It  was  now  too  dark  to  see  much. 
His  calls  awaked  no  response.  He  then  returned, 
full  of  the  most  anxious  fears,  with  a  faint  hope 
that  he  might  find  Pliil  on  his  return. 

But  on  his  return  there  was  no  Phil  to  be  seen. 


THE   LOSS   OF   PHIL. 


109 


VIII. 

The  Loss  of  Phil— Deep  Gloom  and  heavy  Grief. ^^ 
A  Nujht  of  Terror.  —  The  torrid  Atmosphere.  — 
—  The  Smell  of  Smoke.  — The  Darkness  that  might 
befelt.—iVorninr/  brings  IMief —The  Search.— 
The  Hock  and  the  Precipice  hy  the  Riverside.  — 
The  Track  of  Phil.  — Following  the  Trail.—  The 
Trail  lost.  —  Persevering  Search.  —  'The  End  of 

the  Day. 

* 

TIE   loss  of  Phil  ])r()duce(l   a  terrible  effect 
upon   the  little  party.     Pat's  grief  was  ex- 
pressed by  sighs  and  groans  for  some  time, 
until  at  length  his  elastic  nature  rebounded  from 
its  depression,  and  he  began  to  hope  for  the  best. 
Solomon    was   deeply  distressed,    and    said    not  a 
word ;  while   Bart  w^as  also  silent,  and  he  tried  in 
vain  to  conjecture  what  had  been  the  cause  of  Phil's 
departure.    To  him  it  seemed  perfectly  unaccount- 
able   how  he   could  have  got  lost.     Tliere  was  the 
stream,  and    it  seemed  to  be  easy  enough,  even  if 
one   had  wandered    from  it,  to  retrace   his  stops. 
From   Pat's   story,  Phil's  dei)arture  from   him  by 
that   rock  was  the   beginning  of  misfortunes.     At 


10 


FIRE   IN   THE  WOODS. 


some  time  after  tluit  he  must  have  beG:un  to  wan- 
der in  a  wrong  direction,  and  gradually  gone  far- 
ther and  farther  away  till  lie  was  lost. 

All  that  night  none  of  them  slept.  For  a  time 
they  kept  up  a  series  of  cries,  which  awakened  no 
response.  Then  Hiey  built  a  fire,  thinking  that  the 
glow  would  penetrate  to  a  distance  beyond  where 
their  cries  could  go.  They  made  the  fire  on  the 
bank,  and  kept  it  up  for  two  or  three  hours  ;  but  at 
length  they  couhl  find  no  more  fuel,  and  allowed 
it  to  die  out. 

While  thus  watching  and  using  these  efforts  to 
make  known  their  situation  to  the  wanderer,  their 
excitement  and  suspense  were  too  great  to  allow 
of  any  thought  of  sleep.  Eyes  and  ears  were 
constantly  on  the  stretch,  and  ev^ery  sound,  how- 
ever faint,  awakened  within  them  the  hope  that 
it  might  be  Phil.  But  the  hours  passed  on,  and 
not  a  single  sign  appeared  to  them  as  they  watched, 
a  d  listened,  and  waited. 

'*  I  wonder  whether  he  is  wandering  about  in 
this  darkness  or  not,"  said  Bart,  in  an  anxiouti 
voice.  *'  But  I  don't  suppose  it  is  possible  for  any 
one  to  walk  in  these  woods  now." 

'' Niver  a  walk,"  said  Pat;  "not  he.  He's  tin 
tmies  comfortahler  thin  we  are.  He's  jist  gath- 
ered some  moss,  an  he's  made  a  comfortable  bed 
for  himself  over  beyont,  somewheres  under  thim 
trays.  Deed  an  he  has.  An  what's  more,  he's 
asleep  now,  sound  as  a  top,  so   he  is  ;  an  I  wish 


DEEP  GLOOM  AND  HEAVY  GRIEF. 


Ill 


I  wor  as  sound  aslape  as  he   is  this  blissed  mo- 
mint." 

Bart  shook  liis  head  mournfnlly. 

"  No,"  said  ho,  with  a  sigii,  '^  lio  won't  liave 
much  sleep  to-niglit,  poor  old  Pliil:  he's  got  too 
much  to  think  of.  If  he  had  some  une  with  him, 
he'd  feel  all  right;  but  it's  a  terrible  thing  to  be 
all  alone  this  way.  And  it's  a  miserable  night ;  so 
horribly  dark;  so  hot.  I  can  scarcely  breathe. 
1  never  knew  such  a  night." 

"  Thrue  for  you,"  said  Pat.  "  It's  fairly  suffo- 
cated I  am.  But  at  any  rate,  that  makes  no  differ 
to  Phil.  Sure  its  betther  for  him  to  be  too  warrum 
thin  too  cowld,  so  it  is." 

"  I  can't  understand  it,"  said  Bart,  after  a  pause. 
"  I  don't  see  why  he  should  be  lost.  I  wonder 
whether  — but  that's  nonsense." 

"What's  that?" 

"  I  wonder  whetlier  Sam  could  have  been  follow- 
ing us,"  said  Bart,  ludf  shuddering  at  the  frightful 
thought  tiiat  had  occurred. 

"8am?     What,  the  Injin?" 

"  Yes." 

"  An  what'd  he  be  a  follerin  of  us  for?  " 

"0,  I  don't  know.     But  you  remember  how  he 

looked  last  night.     He  looked  like  a  demon.     He 

certainly  tried  to  kill  us." 

"  Sure  but  he  was  dead  dhrunk  an  mad  intoirely, 
so  he  was." 

"  But  hiis  mad  fit  may  have  lasted  till  to-day ; 


112 


FTRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


and  be  may  have  boon  sn-^aking  after  us  tbrougb 
tbe  woods,  and  watcliing  for  a  cbance  to  do  some 
miscbief.     And  so  —  ■' 

Pbil  hesitated. 

Pat  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"  0,  sure,"  said  be  at  last,  ''  wbat  are  ye  givin 
way  for  to  sicli  mad  dcludberin  notions?  Wliat'd 
he  be  wantin  of  a  boy  like  Pbil?  " 

"  He  might  have  vowed  vengeance  on  us." 

"  Vingince  is  it?  By  the  powers,  thin,  if  it's 
vingince  be  wanted,  it  ud  be  Solf)mon  that  he'd 
track,  not  Phil,  that  niver  so  much  as  spoke  one 
word  to  him,  good  or  bad,  all  tbe  time  lie  was  with 
us.  And  as  for  vingince,  sure  my  iday  is,  that  the 
Injin'd  give  up  all  the  vingince  that  ivir  wor  for  a 
gbxss  o'  whiskey,  so  he  "vvud." 

Bart  made  no  reply.  Tbe  subject  was  too  terrible 
to  be  discussed,  lie  tried  to  dismiss  tbe  thought 
from  bis  mind.  But  tbe  idea,  having  once  sug- 
gested itself,  was  not  to  be  got  rid  of  so  easily. 
Do  what  he  could,  it  came  back  to  him  over  and 
over  again,  taking  possession  of  his  mind  more 
and  more  strongly. 

A  terrible  thouglit  it  indeed  was  that  liad  thus 
come  to  him  —  the  idea  of  that  demoniac  being 
who  had  sprung  at  them  on  tbe  previous  night, 
and  had  only  been  repelled  by  wbat  seemed  almost 
a  miracle,  being  still  animated  by  furious  hate 
and  a  thirst  for  vengeance,  —  tbe  idea  of  this  im- 
placable savage,  thirsting  for  their  blood,  following 


A   NIGHT   OF   TEIJROR. 


113 


stealthily  on  their  trail  all  that  day,  maintaining 
his  pursuit  with  that  inexhaustible  patience  and 
tenacity  of  purpose  whicli  a  bloodthirsty  savage 
alone  can  show  when  on  the  search  for  vengeance. 
Had  he  indeed  done  this  ?  Had  this  been  the  se- 
cret history  of  that  day?  Was  this  blood-hound 
indeed  on  their  track?  Could  it  have  been  possi- 
ble that  he  had  devoted  them  one  by  one  to  de- 
struction, and  had  bided  his  time,  and  lu'd  made 
Phil  his  first  victim  the  moment  he  wandered  away 
from  the  others  ?  It  was  a  horrible,  a  sickening 
thought. 

Now,  Bart's  mind  was  full  of  stories  of  Indian 
warfare  and  Indian  vengeance,  accunndated  during 
a  course  of  reading  in  Cooper's  Leatii(^rstocking 
series,  and  kindred  works ;  and  so  it  is  no  wonder 
that  this  idea  came  to  him.  Besides,  he  had  yet 
fresh  and  vivid  in  his  mind  the  assault  of  that 
drunken  fiend  the  night  before.  All  these  things 
combined  to  fix  this  fearful  idea  in  iiis  mind.  As 
the  hours  passed  on  it  became  more  deeply  seated, 
until  at  length  he  was  in  an  indescribable  state  of 
anxiety  and  alarm. 

Thus  the  hours  of  that  night  passed  away  —  a 
night  even  worse  than  the  preceding  one;  for 
then  the  terror  had  come  and  gone;  but  now  it  hung 
over  them  all  the  time.  In  addition  to  this,  the 
night  itself  was  most  depressing.  It  was  intensely 
dark.  After  the  fii'c  had  died  out,  it  was  impossible 
to  see    anything  whatever  —  not   even   the  hand 

8 


114 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS> 


before  the  face.    The  deepest  shadows  siirronndcd 
them  on  all  sides,  and  wherever  tliey  looked  their 
eyes  encountered  nothing  hut   the  blackness   of 
darkness.     Besides  this,    it   was    exceedinj^ly  hot 
and  sultry,  the  air  having  a  certain  indescribable 
oppressiveness  which  made  them  sometimes  fairly 
gasp  for  breath.     Tlie  only  relief  that  they  were 
able  to  gain  was  by  making  frequent  applications 
to   the  water  of  the  river,  sometimes  dashing  it 
over  their  faces,  at  other  times   dipping  in  their 
heads,  or  feet.     Tliis  sultriness  oppressed  them  all 
in  an   equal  degree,  and  united  with  the  intense 
darkness  to  throw  them  into  a  state  of  bewilder- 
ment and  porj)lexity.     Taken  in  connection  with 
Phil's  disappearance  and  the  terrible  event  of  the 
preceding  night,  it  produced  such  an  effect  upon 
the  mind  of  Bart,  that  all  the  fears  which  were 
suggested  by  his  vivid  fancy  became  more  formi- 
dable  and  irresistible.     Solomon   said  nothing  at 
all,  but  appeared  to  be  quite  overwhelmed.     Pat 
alone  struggled  against  the  evil  influences  of  the 
time,  and  endeavored  most  energetically  to  put  the 
best  appearance  on  things,  and  to  rouse  Bart  from 
the  deep  gloom  into  which  he  had  fallen.     So  the 
night  passed  ;  and  it  was  at  length  with  a  feeling 
of  immense  relief  that  they  saw  the  darkness  be- 
gin to  lessen. 

As  the  day  dawned,  a  faint  breeze  sprang  up, 
which  brought  a  gentle,  cooling  influence  with  it. 
They  rose  and  inhaled  with  long  breaths  the  more 


MORNING    lUMNGS    nELIEF. 


IIT) 


ft-n.tef'ul  air.  Gratlually  the  darkness  disappeared, 
and  the  dayh'ght  inereased,  and  the  forms  of  tilings 
around  them  beeame  revealed. 

Overhead  there  was  no  ehange  from  the  day  be- 
fore. The  sky  was  all  covered  over  with  dense 
clou.ls,  which  seemed  to  hang  much  lower  down 
than  on  the  preceding  dry,  and  now  appeared  whirl- 
iiig  round  and  rolling  over  the  heavens  in  x  ast  vor- 
.  tices.  This  movement  on  their  i)art  was.  no  doubt, 
caused  by  their  encountering  the  breeze  which  had' 
sprung  up,  and  which,  meeting  them  now  in  their 
course,  arrested  that  course,  and  whii-led  them 
back   in  confused  heaps. 

And   now   a  new  day  lay  l)eforo  them,  in  which 
they   would    have   to    emplov    everv   hour    in  the 
search   after    Phil.     What  that  day  oi-  that  search 
might  bring  forward,  they  could  not  tell:  but  they 
were  eager  to  begin  it  as  soon  as  possible.     While 
it  was  yet  morning  twilight,  they  ate  their  break- 
fast,   and    discussed  the   best   plan  of   procedure. 
^Solomon,  as   usual,   made  no  remark  nix.n  the  sub- 
ject,  being  content    to  abide    by  JJarfs  decision 
while    Bart  and  Pat  talked  over   various  wavs  of 
carrying  on  their  search.     To  separate  was  liot  to 
be    thought  of,  for   that   would   only  lead   to   fresh 
troubles.     80  it  was  decided,  that' wherever  they 
went,  they  should   now  keej)  together.     'I'hev  fur- 
ther decided  that  they  should   go  down  the  stream 
till    they    reached    that    rock    alreadv    spoken    of, 
which  had  been  the  point  of  I'hil's  .hparture,  an.! 


IIG 


FIRE    IN   Till':    WOODS. 


try  if  tlioy  could  not  gvt  iiixjn  his  trail,  so  as  to 
see,  at  least  in  a  general  way,  what  directiuri  he 
had  taken. 

During  this  deliheration  about  the  course  which 
they  should  take,  Bart  still  exhibited  the  desi)on- 
deiicy  which  had  characterized  him  ever  since 
riul's  disappearance.  The  gloom  of  night  and  the 
o])pressivo  sultriness  had  passed,  daylight  was  at 
hand,  and  the  breeze  brought  fresh  life  to  them  ; 
but  still  Bart's  s])irits  were  deeply  depressed. 
Against  this  Pat  rebelled,  and  the  cheerfulness 
and  confidence  which  he  had  tried  to  maintain 
through  the  night  now  assumed  a  prominent  place 
in  his  thoughts  and  in  his  manner. 

'^  Yes,"  said  Bart,  dolefully,  ccuitinuing  some  re- 
mark which  he  had  been  making,  ''  if  we  can  only 
get  on  his  trail,  avo  may  at  least  find  out  the  gen- 
eral direction  that  he  iias  taken.  But  I'm  afraid 
there's  no  hope." 

''  Arrah,  be  off  now  wid  yer  nonsinse,"  cried 
Pat.  ''  What's  the  use  of  givin  up  at  the  very 
fust,  afore  ye've  made  a  single  trial  ?  Sure  an  he'll 
turrun  u[)  all  right  and  safe  yit." 

"  1  wish  I  could  think  so." 

''  Think  so  !  Why,  I  know  it.  Sure  am  I  this 
day  that  he'll  turrun  up  safe  an  sound.  An  why 
shouldn't  he  ?  " 

"  These  woods.  If  he  once  gets  tangled  among 
them,  how  can  he  ever  find  his  way  out?  " 

"  Tangled  among  them,  is  it  ?    Sure  an  it's  not  so 


CONFIDENX'K    OF    PAT. 


117 


. 


very  bad  thin.  He  can  only  walk  on  an  walk  on, 
an  he's  sure  to  come  out  some  whores.  P>,'si(l(v^,' 
he'll  hit  upon  a  road  some  place  or  other,  and  wan- 
dher  along  that." 

"  There  are  no  roads  here," 
"Uow  do  you  know?     Ye  d..n't  know,     'rimr 
may  he  fifty  roads  widin  a  mile  of  this  very  place, 
so  there  may.     So  what's  the  use  of  o-ivin  up  ?  " 

?  No,"  said  Bart.  ''  This  is  a  wild,  unlivquentcd 
place,  and  the  woods  are  nnbroken  form,  immense 
distance.  If  Phil  has  got  among  them  he  will 
wander  on  till  — till  he  drops." 

"  Ah,  come  now,  none  of  that.  Sure,  what  do 
ye  think  of  Phil  ?  Do  ye  tliiid^  n..u-  that  Phil's  an 
idiot?  Sure  now,  what'd  ye  do  y(M-se1f  if  it  was 
you  that  was  lost  instead  of  ]>hil?  Do  von  think 
that  you'd  wandher  about  till  you  dix.pped,  or 
do  ye  think  ye'd  work  yer  way  out  somewheres  ? 
Come  now,  ye  know  ye'd  woi-k  yer  way  out,  so 
you  would.  And  so  would  1.  And  so  will  Phi) 
so  he  will."  ' 

This  i)rocess  of  reasoning  struck  Bart  so  fbrci- 
l)ly  that  he  had  not  a  woi-d  to  say.  Pat  in  fict 
was  right  in  his  estimate  of  Bart's  confidence  in 
himself.  Bart  really  did  feel  sure  that  if  he  were 
lost  in  the  woods  he'd  get  out. 

Sure  now  imagine  yerseif  in  Phil's  place,"  con- 
timied  Pat,  cheerily.  '^Wliafd  v(mdo?  p|]  tell 
you  what  you'd  do.  Whin  ye  found  verself  lost, 
ye'd  thry,  of  coorse,  to  git  back.     Well,  thin,  ye'd 


118 


rinr:  in  thf:  woods. 


p;o  wniidlicrin  iiltoiit.  Very  well.  YoM  sit  down 
iiii  rist,  iuid  tliiiik  wliat  yc'd  ])oM.  do  nixt.  Then 
yoM  start  olF  alVisli.  Maybe  ye'd  cliinb  a  tray  to 
see  if  ye  end  see  anytliin.  At  any  rate  ye'd  work 
away  as  lono-  as  tlio  daylij^'lit  lasted.  At  steeted 
interviUs  ye'd  let  olf  iiowls  as  loud  as  ye  cud  howl. 
Well,  thin,  it  'ud  ;i,-row  dark,  an  so  ye'd  go  to  work 
an  make  up  your  mind  to  |)ass  the  night  here,  an 
ye'd  thry,  of  coorse,  to  make  yersolf  as  comfortable 
as  possible.  So  ye'd  collect  any  quantity  of  moss 
an  ferns,  an  spread  them  out  —  perhaps  ye'd  make  a 
iire — but  tliat's  neither  here  nor  there;  anyhow, 
ye'd  make  a  comfortable  bid  for  yerself,  an  thin 
ye'd  take  a  bite  of  somethin  to  ate,  and  thin  ye'd 
lie  doun  an  doze  off  into  the  comfortablest  slape  ye 
ever  knew.  That's  what  ye'd  do  —  an  ye  know  it, 
so  ye  do.  Now  wouldn't  ye?  Answer  me  that. 
Isn't  that  jist  what  ye  wud  do?" 

"Well,  1  suppose  I  wouhl,"  said  Bart;  "but  per- 
haps the  Indian  has  had  something  to  do." 

"The  Injin.  0,  bah !  Bother  the  Injin.  That 
does  to  spake  of  in  the  middle  of  a  dark  night,  but 
not  undher  the  bi-ight  daylight.  That  ]njin's  safe 
in  his  own  camp  by  noo,  I'll  warrant  ye." 

By  this  time  they  were  ready  to  start,  and  ac- 
cordingly they  set  out  on  their  way  down  the 
stream  to  the  rock  already  mentioned.  It  was  not 
quite  day  when  they  started,  but  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  rock  it  was  full  day,  so  that  they 
would  be  able  to  detect  any  trace  of  Phil's  path- 


THE  SKAIU'H. 


lit) 


way  if  any  sucli  traco  mi-ht   romaln.     The  mrk 
was  ahout  thirty  or  forty  foot  Li-h,  hikI  roso  uiuai 
the  odgo  of  the  river  which  llou-ed  ah)!,-  its  h;,s(.. 
Pliil  iniu-ht  have  crossed  the  rive,-  and  gone  down, 
as  Pat  (h'd,  on  the  other  si.h>:   hut  he  cho^e  thi^' 
probal)ly    thinkin-    that    it  was  only  a  few  step.' 
On  i.achin-  this  place  Pat  was  able  to  point  out 
pretty  nea.-ly  the  spot  where  ],e  saw  Phil  „H,„nt 
the  hank.     Hce  the  unde,dn-ush  seemed  to  show 
signs  ol'  having  hcen  t.-ampled  npon,  and  thev  at 
once   ascended   the    l.nnk   in    this  di.vction.     For 
some  distance  the  ma,-ks  continued,  and  tl..>v  Ibl- 
lowed  ve,y  carefully.     At  last,  sho,-tlv  after  "they 
reached  the  top  of  the  hank,  these  faint  iga,-ks  died 
out  uttei-ly,  and  the,-e  remained  no  tnico  whatever 
of  any  footsteps  that  was  discei'nil.le  to  their  eyes 
Here,   then,  they   paused,  and    again    considered 
what  they  should  do. 

After    carefid    considcation    of    evervthin*.     it 
seemed  to  them  that  the  hest  thing  f.r 'them  m,w 
to  do  was  to  advance  from  the  ,-iver  hank  <!i,-ectly 
into  the  woods  in  as  sti'aight  a  line  as  possible.      If 
tiiey  we,-e  to  do  this  fbr  sevcal  milos,  thev  mio-ht 
get   upon   the  wanderer's   ti'ack.     Thev  theivlbi-e 
set  out,  walking  away  from   the   ,-ive,",  ti-ving  hy 
every    possible    means    to    make    their    cou.'so    a 
straight  line.     They  also  to,-e  off  twiu-s  f,u,„  the 
trees  as  they  went  and  st,-ewed  them  behind  then, 
to  leave  a  trail.     Thus  they  went  ibr  about  hall  an 
liour.     Then  they  began  to  shout,  and  still  goiug 


120 


FIRE    IN   THK    WOODS. 


(inward  (or  anotlir'-  lialf  lioiir,  tlicy  rontiniiod  their 
slioiits.  Uiit  at  tlio  ond  ol"  this  time  aiul  these 
el"lbi-ts  they  wci'o  no  better  oil"  than  at  tlie  begin- 
ning,  and  to  all  their  cries  there  came  no  response 
"whatever. 

Here  anotlicM*  (hscnssion  took  })laee.  It  seemed 
to  Pat  thai  I'hil  must  have  wandered  down  the 
stream,  how  iar  he  did  not  know,  but  perhaps 
miles,  and  tliat  on  his  return  he  had  left  the  river 
at  some  point,  and  thus  been  lost.  11' this  were  so, 
it  Ibllowed  that  tin;  best  ])laee  to  S(>ai-eli  for  him 
wctuld  b(>  lh(^  woods  lying  on  a  line  with  the  river, 
and  extending  along  its  banks.  If  they  were  now 
to  turn  to  the  right,  they  would  bo  going  in  a 
course  ])arallid  to  tlie  river,  and  throug'h  those  very 
M'oods  in  wliieli  it  was  most  likely  that  IMiil  might 
be.  Pat's  statenuMit  and  argument  seemed  so 
reasonable^  that  Part  at  once  a(l()j)ted  it;  and  so, 
with  th(^  utmost  care,  they  took  Uj)  a  courses  which 
seeuKMl  as  near  as  |)ossible  at  right  angles  with 
their  Ibrmer  one.  and  conse(|uently  as  nearly  as 
possible  parallel  with  the  How  of  the  river.  In 
this  dii-eclion  they  now  wiMit,  trying  as  belbre  to 
kei^j)  a  sti-aight  course,  and  to  leave  a  trail  behind 
them.  Above  all,  they  kept  shouting  and  calling 
all  tlu^  time. 

They  went  on  in  this  course  lor  as  much  as  two 
hours  with  no  more  success  than  belbi-e.  They 
came  b>  woods  wIum'o  the  underbrush  was  so  thick, 
and  the  gi'ound  so  swampy,  that  further  progress 


TFIK    TKAIL    LOST. 


12 


was  out  of  the   question.     Uovo,  ihou,  tl.oy  oik'o 
iMoro  (Icliboi-iiU'd  as   to  what   tlicy  sliould  do.     To 
Ko  back  seemed  inexpressibly  irksome,  as  W(>11  as 
useless.      It  seemed  l)etter  to  ei,a.no-(.  ih^.;,  (.,,„,^o 
in  some  new  direction,  wliiel,  mij;-i.t  be  favorable  to 
their  h(»pes.     On  the  whoi(>  it  now  seemed  b(^s(  to 
got  back  to  the  river.     J'hil  nn'-ht  be  th.Mv  some- 
where alonf:^  its  banks.     In  th(>  ev.'nin-  thev  couhl 
ft-o  back  to  their  former  stoppin-plat-e  bv  asciMid- 
iiig-   the  course  of  tlie  river.     S.,  thev  <n,,k   np  a 
new  line  of  march,  wiiich  seemed   to  b(>  exa.-tly  at 
ri-ht  ano-Ies  wirii  their  last  one,  and  thus  wcnl"  on. 
All  this  time  they  had  been  takin-  the  utmost 
pains  to  leave  a  trail  ;  but  now,  as  tlioy  wore  p.ing 
back  to  the  river,  it  seemiMl   n,,  lon-vr  necessarv  : 
so  they  walked  alono-  m,ich  mor<>  easily  and  (piiok- 
ly,  merely  trying  to  make  their  pathway  as  strai-ht 
as  j)ossible. 

'I'hey  walked  on  for  a  long  time. 
'J^he  river  seemed  much  more  distant  than  they 
had  supposed. 

Still  they  cheered  themselves  with  the  thou-ht, 
nt  almost   every   step,   that   the   next  step  wmdd' 
bring  them  in  sight  of  it. 
One  more   ])ause. 
Still  the   river  did  not  appear. 
Another   hour  passed. 
Still  no   riv(M'. 

Neverthel(>ss  they  toiled  on,  for  having  sot  be- 
fore  themselves  this  riv(>r  as  a  .vrtain  phiee  to  bo 
roached,  they  were  not  willino-  t,,  stop  short  of  it. 


122 


FIIiE    IN   THE    WOODS. 


But  the  fartlier  tliey  went,  t]ic  more  hopeless  did 
tlieir  attoin])t  seem. 

At  lengtli  there  began  to  come  over  them  a 
vagne  idea  that  they  liad  lost  all  idea  of  the  direc 
tion  of  the  river  —  that  they  had  been  wandering 
in  a  wrong  direction  altogether;  and  this  vague 
idea  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  and  began  to 
gi'ow  into  a  full  conviction  that  they,  as  well  as 
Phil,  were  utterly  and  hopelessly  lost. 


LOST  ! 


123 


IX. 


Lost- Ddiherations.-- Trying  U  regain  the  Course. 
~lhe  Smoke  of  the  Earning, -The  stcupmnt 
Air.  -  Onioard.-An  Opening  in  the  Forest. - 
Hope  and  Enthusiasm.  — A  Hush  forward 


1' 


OST  ! 

Yes,  Lost ! 
Lost  in  the  woods  ! 
It  was  Bart  who  first  received  tliis  idea  in  its 
fill   force  in  his  mind.     Ho  stopped  abruptly,  and 
iooked  all  around. 

"Well,"  said  ho,  "it's  my  opinion  that  we've 
been  keeping  this  sort  of  thing  up  too  long  alto- 
gether. For  n.y  part,  I  haven-t  the  faintest  idea 
in  tlie  world  where  we  are.  One  thing  is  certain  • 
we're  utterly  astray  in  what  we  may  suppose  to 
be  our  reckoning;  and  wherever  the  river  mav  be 
It  certainly  isn't  anywhere  near  us.  And  I'm  goi....' 
to  knock  under  ibr  the  present."  '^ 

With  these  words,  lie  fiung  himself  down  upon 
a  knoll  under  a  neighboring  tree,  threw  oO"  j.is 
bag,  and  pitched  it  away  to  some  distance  ir.,m 
hini,  and  tluMi,  .Irawing  jiis  knees  up  u  „a  •  hi. 
chni,  he  sat  gazing  fixedly  at  the  ground. 


124 


FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


"  Well,"  said  Pat,  "  I've  been  thiiikin  that  same 
for  the  last  hour,  sure  ;  but,  as  ye  seemed  inclined 
to  laid  off,  an  as  1  hadn't  anythin  more  to  offer, 
why,  I  jist  follered  afther.  An  sure  1  think  it  ain't 
a  bad  idea  at  all,  at  all,  to  sit  down,  if  it's  only  to 
rist  ourselves,  an  take  a  bite  of  sometliin  to  ate,  an 
thry  to  git  up  some  schame  for  our  nixt  attimpt." 

With  these  words,  Pat  took  a  seat  upon  the 
ground,  and  Solomon,  without  any  remark,  sat 
down  near  them. 

And  there  they  all  sat,  silent,  with  the  same 
thought  in  all  their  minds:  and  that  was,  that  they 
were  utterly,  completely,  and  hopelessly  lost  in  the 
woods.  None  of  them  felt  inclined  to  speak.  Tbey 
felt  disconifitcd,  disheartened,  mortified,  i^o  this 
Avas  the  end  of  their  elaborate  plans,  so  carefully 
discussed,  so  carefully  followed  —  that  they  who 
came  to  seek  their  lost  friend  should  themselves 
be  lost  also  !  They  were  confident  that  they  had 
made  some  mistake  somewhere,  and  at  some  time, 
and  thev  were  now  busily  (Mm-aixed  in  recalling 
the  different  events  of  their  journey,  so  as  to  see 
where  iuid  when  the  mistake  had  been. 

Bart  thought  that  their  mistake  was  in  not  con- 
tinuing to  leave  a  trail  behind  them,  after  they 
had  made  the  last  change  in  tludr  cimrse.  Up 
to  that  time,  it  seemed  to  him  that  all  had  gone  on 
well,  and  he  lamented  that  fatal  carelessness  and 
over-conlidence  that  had  led  to  this  neglect. 

Pat's  idea  was,  tliat  they  had  not  calculated  tho 


mi  myiu)*>  ■■! 


DELIBERATIONS. 


125 


direction  of  tlie  river,  and  tliat  tliey  had  somehow 
missed  it. 

Solomon  declared  that,  ever  since  he  hdt  tlie 
river,  he  hadn't  had  any  idea  at  all  of  any  direc- 
tion. 

"  Dat's  so,"  he  said  ;  ''  I  lieerd  yon  go  on  in  dem 
ar  long'-vvinded  'scussions  bont  rijj,ht  'rections,  an 
pojjpnmdiklars,  an  rytanglnms,  an  sich,  bnt  hadn't 
no  more  iiotium  ob  wliar  we  was  g(^in  dan  a  chile. 
An  vou  hadn't  nudder.     Yah!  vah  !  yah  !  " 

Solomon's  idea  was,  after  all,  mnch  nearer  the 
truth  than  the  theories  of  either  liart  or  Pat.  For 
although  these  two  had  supposed  all  the  time  that 
they  were  carrying  in  their  very  clever  brains  a 
perfectly  distinct  plan  of  their  course,  yet,  in  real- 
ity, this  belief  was  utterly  unfounded,  and  the 
su})posed  plan  was  a  mockery,  a  delusion,  and  a 
snare.  Here  they  were  —  lost !  —  that  was  the  end 
of  it. 

For,  in  point  of  fact,  their  whole  journey  had 
been  one  constant  series  of  mistakes.  From  the 
first  step  to  the  last,  there  had  been  nothing  but 
selt-delusion. 

First,  they  had  deluded  themselves  into  the  be- 
belief  that  they  could  go  in  a  straight  line.  Now, 
in  those  wcods,  there  had  been  incessant  obstacles, 
in  the  shape  of  clumps  of  trees,  underbrush,  bogs, 
rocks,  fallen  timber,  and  a  hundred  other  things  of 
a  similar  character,  which  necessitated  a  departure 
from  a  straight  line  at  every  few  steps.     To  sup- 


126  FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 

pose  that  tliey  couki  walk  on,  uiv'vv  riuch  circum- 
stances, in  a  straiglit  line,  wa^  p/osurd.  Tlie 
consequence  was,  that  their  coim-si  h'.'d,  all  alon^, 
been  exceedingly  crooked,  leading-  them  towards 
all  the  points  of  the  compass  in  turns. 

Another  mistake  which  they  made  was,  in  the 
supposition  that  the  river  had  any  definite  course. 
They  had  acted  on  the  theory,  not  only  that  their 
own  course  was  straight,  but  that  th-^  course  of 
the  river  was  straight  also.  Now,  thig  river,  like 
every  other  river,  had  a  flow  in  one  general  direc- 
tion,  but  its  actual  course  was  a  winding  one,  and 
not  far  below  the  rock  from  Md:ich  they  had  set 
out,  it  turned  in  a  direction  Avh)oh  was  totally  dif- 
ferent from  the  one  in  which  ii  was  flowing  when 
they  left  it. 

Thus  they  had  been  wanderiiig  in  a  very  irregu- 
lar course  ever  since  they  started,  l^hey  iiad  gcme 
onward  for  mile  after  mile,  and  every  stej)  had 
carried  them  farther  and  farther  away  from  the 
places  in  the  neighborhood  of  which  they  wished 
to  remain,  and  now,  at  this  bewildered  halt,  they 
were  in  reality  far,  very  far,  away  from  that  river 
which  they  had  believed  themselves  to  be  ap- 
proaching. 

Some  such  conviction  as  tliis  came  to  their  minds 
now,— that  is  to  say,  the  conviction  that  they  had 
wandered  far  away  from  the  river,  —  but  they  had 
no  idea  how  far  away  from  it  they  ronUy  were,  and 
they  thought  —  that  is  to  say,  Bart  and  Pat  thought 


DELIBERATIONS. 


127 


—  tlirtt  tlioir  wmi(l(M'iiiLrs  had  boGriin  onlv  at  tlicir 
last  change  of  course,  near  tli(^  wooded  swamp. 

Tims  far,  tlie  weatlicr  had  been  w^arm,  but  not 
so  sultry  as  on  the  day  before.  The  air  appeared 
to  have  become  cooled  by  that  gentle  breeze  which 
had  sprung  up  in  the  morning.  The  sky,  however, 
had  been  overcast  as  before,  and  all  the  view  over- 
head was  covered  with  those  rolling  smoke  clouds 
before  mentioned.  They  noticed  this  now  as  they 
sat  there,  and  it  seemed  to  them  that  the  sky  was 
more  enveloped  with  this  sombre  covering,  and 
that  the  light  was  dimmer,  and  the  scene  more 
gloomy.  The  birds  also  seemed  to  have  all  tied 
away  from  that  smoky  sky. 

Their  long  tramp  had  sharpened  their  appetites, 
and  they  now  began  to  think  of  lunch.  Fortunate- 
ly, Solomon,  with  his  usual  forethought,  had  saved 
the  fish  that  had  been  left  from  their  repast  on  the 
previous  day,  and  these,  with  some  sandwiches, 
furnished  out  a  meal.  They  were  without  anything 
to  drink,  however  ;  but  a  little  search  in  the  neigh- 
borhood revealed  a  slender  rill  of  very  warm 
water,  which,  Avarm  as  it  was,  they  were  glad  to 
drink.  On  the  whole,  this  frugal  repast  refreshed 
them  and  invigorated  them ;  and  after  its  conclu. 
sion,  tiiey  l)egan  to  consider  once  more  the  impor- 
tant (juestion  of  the  course  which  they  should 
take  next. 

What  pcM'plexed  them  most  was  the  impossibil- 
ity of  knowing  anything   ult^ut  the  directioii    in 


128  FIRE   IX   THE   WOODS. 

wJiich  they  oii.c:ht  to  go.  The  points  of  the  com- 
pass Avere  all  unknown.  North,  south,  east,  and 
west  wore  all  ah'ko  a  mystery.  The  smoke  clouds 
that  covered  the  whole  sky  made  it  impossihlo 
even  to  conjecture,  witii  any  approach  to  accuracy, 
the  possible  position  of  the  sun. 

Their  situation  was  perplexing  in  the  extreme. 
In  fact,  it  was  a  double  perplexity.  They  did  not 
know  where  Phil  Avas,  and  they  did  not  know 
where  they  themselves  were.  They  wanted  to  find 
Phil ;  but  by  reason  of  their  loss  of  all  knowledge 
of  locality,  they  were  unable  to  fbi-ni  even  a  the- 
ory of  the  particular  direction  in  which  it  might  be 
best  to  renew  their  search  after  him.  And  this  it 
was  that  made  any  discussion  particularly  difficult. 

I'hen,  again,  though  they  had  a  distinct  remem- 
brance of  the  river  itself,  yet  they  had  formed  no 
definite  idea  about  its  course.  Bart  thought  it 
ran  north.  Pat  thought  it  ran  south.  Why  they 
thought  so,  neitlKn-  could  give  any  reason.  But 
this  mattered  nothing  now.  Even  if  they  had 
known  most  perfectly  the  actual  course  of  the 
river,  —  nay,  even  if  they  had  been  j)erfectly  ac- 
quainted  with  the  geography  of  the  district,  —it 
would  have  availed  them  nothing  whatever  in  their 
present  position,  nor  could  they  have  been  in  any 
better  position  to  decide  about  the  best  direction 
which  they  could  take. 

"We    ought   to   be  moving,''    said  Bart;  "but 
where  ?     I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 


f 


DELIBEHATIONS. 


120 


"Well,  thin/'  said  Pat,  -I'll  tell  you  what  it  is. 
J^ot  s  he  nir,  au<l  thrust  to  luck.  J.et's  walk  ahead 
anywheres,  and  we'll  come  out  soniewheres." 

"Can't  we  tell  somethino-  l,y  theClouds?"  asked 
Bart,  lookin-  up  at  the  rolling  masses  overhead 

"Deed  an  I've  thought  <.' that,"  said  Pat,  -  an 
Ive  bet^n  watciiiathim;  hut  sorra  one  o' me  can 
make  out  any  thin  about  thim  same  at  all,  at  all. 
They're  jist  rowlin  an  tuml.lin  everv  which  way 
An  that  same  they  were  d,.in  this  monun  ;  for"  I 
watched  thim,  an  cudn't  make  any  thin  out  o'  thim 
cit  all,  at  all,  no  more'n  I  can  now  at  this  blissed 
monnnt.  An  tlH,«y  won't  be  ai'ther  tellin  vou  any 
niore'n  they  towld  me,  I'll  go  bail/' 

"It    seems    to  me,"   said  Part,  "that'they  are 
moving  ni  some  direction.     I  remember  noticing 
this  morning  that  -hey  moved,  or  seemed  to  move 
across  the  river.     Now,  if  the  river  ran  north—"  ' 
"South,"  interrupted  Pat. 

"  North,"  persisted  Bart.    "  If  it  ran  north,  why, 
these  clouds  must  be  moving  east." 
"  West,"  cried  Pat. 

"  East,"  persisted  Bart.     •>  If  Pm  certain  of  any- 
thing, Pm  certain  that  they  must  be  going  east.'' 
"  Deed  an  Pm  dead  sure  that  they're  a  g'oin  west. 
An  I'm  as  likely  to  be  right  as  you  are." 

_  ';0,  well,"  said  Bart,  -  we  can't  come  to  any  do- 
cision  at  all." 

"Surely  no;    i.ot   from    thim  clouds,"  said  Pat. 
For  afther  all,  I  don't   think  they're  movin  any. 
9  ^ 


. 


/ 


130  FIRE    IN    THE   WOODS. 

wlieres.     They're    jist   rowliii  round   and    round. 
Niver  mind  tliim  clouds." 

"  But  we  must  go  somcwliere,"  said  Bart,  impa- 
tiently. 

"  Deed  an  so  we  must ;  an  so  I  say." 

"  Then  where  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"Jist  wheriver  you  say.  You  laid  ahead,  an 
ril  foller  till  the  wurruld's  ind,  so  I  will,  an  that's 
all  about  it." 

Bart  now  rose,  and  so  did  the  others  ;  and  after  a 
little  natural  hesitation,  they  all  set  out  once  more 
upon  their  journey. 

This  journey  wiis  tl»us  resumed  on  the  princi- 
ple that  it  was  better  to  be  moving  than  to  sit 
idle.  Something  had  to  be  done,  but  what  it  was 
they  did  not  know.  Bart  had  formed  some  vague 
idea  of  his  general  direction  from  the  clouds,  and 
was  trying  now  to  find  his  way  back  to  the  neigh- 
borhood at  least  of  the  place  from  which  they 
had  set  out.  At  any  rate,  he  thought  he  would 
thus  be  more  likely  to  come  upon  Phil's  track,  for 
this  was  still  the  idea  that  was  u])permost  in  his 
mind.  The  direction  in  which  that  place  lay 
seemed  to  him  to  be  west;  and  so,  with  this 
thought  in  his  mind,  he  set  out  and  led  the  way. 

Of  course,  Bart's  idea  about  going  westwas  of  the 
vaguest  possible  description.  Bart's  west  was  Pat's 
east ;  and  each  of  them  was  equally  likely  to  be 
wrong.  For  it  might  have  been  either  north  or 
south ;  and  in  addition  to  this,  there  was  the  fact 


I 


^^^immmmmm 


TRYING    TO    REGAIN    THE    COURSE.  131 

of  their  circuitous  march,  wliich  set  straiglit  lines 
at    defiance,   and    bore  them  along  in  a  winding 
course,  that  might  lead  to  every  point  of  the  com- 
pass  in  turn.      Plovvever,   there  was    actually  no 
other  course  possible,  and  Bart  and  Pat  were  both 
satisfied;  for  while  Bart  thought  he  was  following 
the  course  which  seemed  to  him  best,  Pat  thought 
that  they  were   going   in  no  particular   direction 
at  all,    but    were    wandering   at   random.     Of  the 
two,  Pat  was  far  more  in   the  right.     As  to  Solo- 
mon, it  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him,  so  long 
as   Bart  led   the  way,  and   so  long  as  the  aim  of 
their  march  was  a  search  after  Piiil. 
^  They  walked  on  now  in  silence  for  s©me  hours. 
The  woods  were  just  the  same  as  they  had  been 
all  along.     Sometimes  they  came  to  a  wide  extent 
of  pine  trees,  wliere  the   walking   was  easy,  and 
they  were  able  to  maintain  some  definite  direction. 
At  other  times  they  came   to  woods   filled    with 
hard-wood  trees,  where  the  underbrush  was  thick 
and    the    obstacles   numerous.     Here   they   were 
compelled  to  wind  along  in  a  circuitous  way,  mak- 
ing  numerous  detours  to  avoid  dense  thickets  or 
impassal)le  bogs. 

At  length  the  evening  drew  on,  and  all  of  them 
were  nearly  worn  out.  It  had  been  a  long  and  a 
di/H.'ult  march.  They  had  exerted  themselves 
severely  all  that  day.  Besides,  it  was  not  a  time 
that  was  favorable  to  severe  exertion,  for  the 
warmth  of  the  atmosphere  affected  them  all.     As 


.b 


132  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

tlie  evoiiing  approaclied  the  warmth  increased,  for 
the  sliglit  breeze  that  liad  been  prevailing  all  the 
day,  and  mitigating  the  sultriness  of  the  weather, 
now  died  out,  and  at  once  that  same  oppressive- 
ness of  which  they  had  been  aware  on  the  pre- 
ceding day  made  itself  manifest  again.  Exertion 
became  more  and  more  painful.  Their  progress 
became  more  and  more  laborious,  and  they  walked 
with  ever-increasing  diiHculty.  At  length  Bart 
stopped. 

"  I  Avon't  go  any  farther,"  said  he.  "  This  isn't 
mucli  of  a  ])]ace  to  pass  the  night  in,  but  I've  been 
on  the  lookout  for  tlie  last  hour,  and  this  is  as 
good  as  any  that  I've  seen.  We  can't  do  any  more 
to-day.  .So  I  move  that  we  stop  here  and  rest,  and 
settle  down  for  the  night." 

To  this  the  others  agreed  ;  and  so,  flinging  down 
their  baskets,  they  began  to  make  preparations  for 
the  night.  The  i)i-cparations  were  simple  enough, 
consisting  in  nothing  more  than  a  collection  of 
moss  and  fern  leaves,  wiiicli  abounded  all  around, 
and  of  which  they  soon  heaped  up  a  quantity  suf 
ficient  for  their  wants.  After  this  they  sat  down 
and  partook  of  an  evening  repast  from  their  rapid- 
ly diminishing  stock  of  sandwiches. 

"By  the  powers,"  said  Pat,  "  if  we're  in  the 
wuds  much  longer,  we'll  have  to  git  howld  of  a 
stock  of  frish  provisions,  so  we  will." 

That  night  they  all  slept  soundly,  for  they  were 
worn  out  by  their  long  sleeplessness  and  by  the 


THE   SMOKE   OF   THE    BURNING. 


13.^ 


fatif^ues  of  their  weary  marcli.  In  tliat  niarcli 
tliey  must  liave  traversed  many  miles,  for  they 
liad  bjen  walkinj^  from  very  early  morning  till 
dusk,  with  only  one  intermission.  Their  slee[), 
therofore,  was  deep  and  heavy,  and  it  lasted  until 
comparatively  late  in  the  iollowin^  day. 

On  awaking  they  found  the  air  oppressively 
close  and  sultry.  The  smoke  clouds  were  nearer, 
and  appeared  to  touch  the  tree-tops.  There  was 
also  an  unpleasant  smell  of  smoke  which  irritatiul 
their  nostrils  and  dried  up  their  throats.  One 
thing  only  was  evident  from  this,  and  that  was, 
that  the  woods  were  on  fire.  It  also  seemed 
equally  evident  that  they  were  appr(,)aching  tiio 
scene  of  conflagration.  It  was  already  very  o}> 
pressive,  and  how  much  longer  they  would  be 
able  to  maintain  their  journey  was  a  matter  of 
doubt.  Yet  there  was  no  desire  to  give  up.  The 
one  thought  present  to  all  of  them  was,  that  Phil 
was  lost ;  and  the  rolling  smoke  clouds  now  sug- 
gested to  their  minds  a  danger  impending  over 
him  of  which  they  had  not  thought  befoi-e.  Thus 
far  Bart  had  been  more  or  less  subject  to  fears 
about  the  Indian's  being  concerned  with  Phil's  dis- 
appearance ;  but  now,  as  these  natural  terrors  were 
revealed,  his  thoughts  of  the  Indian  gave  place  to 
others  of  the  most  painful  and  harassing  character. 
For  if  Phil  was  really  lost,  it  amountesl  to  this  — 
that  he  was  wandering  about  in  a  burning  forest, 
far  from  all  hope  of  human  aid.     They  themselves 


134 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


had  siifrorcd,  and  were  siifTcring,  eiiongli  to  know 
well  what  his  state  ninst  be.  The  lively  imagina- 
tion of  I>ai't  portrayed  before  his  mind  in  vivid 
colors  the  situation  of  poor  Phil,  all  alone,  wander- 
ing helpless  and  despairing,  surrounded  by  smoke 
and  flames,  o})pressed  by  the  hejit,  and  sinking 
under  the  weight  of  his  anxiety  ano  fatigue.  ITis 
little  store  of  provisions  must  soon  fail  —  he  would 
not  dare  to  stop  to  try  to  catch  fish  ;  he  would 
hurry  on  as  long  as  strength  lasted,  seeking  to 
escape  from  the  advancing  fires.  At  last  all 
strength  and  all  hope  would  fail,  and  a  terrific  fate 
would  scMze  upon  him. 

The  others  had  something  of  the  same  feelings 
about  Phil,  although  less  vividly,  and  were  ready 
to  keep  up  the  search  after  him  as  long  as  they 
could  move.  So  they  snatched  a  hasty  breakfast, 
and  at  once  prepared  for  the  day's  march.  That 
breakfast  exhausted  the  last  of  their  stock  of  j)ro- 
visions,  and  they  could  only  hope  to  reach  some 
brook  where  they  might  catch  a  few  fish.  At  that 
moment,  however,  tiieir  thoughts  about  them- 
selves were  disregarded  in  their  anxieties  about 
Phil ;  and  so  they  set  out  full  of  eager  desire  to 
find  him  beibre  it  might  be  too  late. 

Thus  far  they  had  continued  to  shout  at  certain 
intervals,  and  the  last  thing  on  the  preceding  night, 
and  the  first  thing  on  this  morning,  had  been  a 
series  of  loud  calls.  But  the  calls  had  never  been 
answered,  and  Phil  seemed  still  to  be  as  far  away 


AN   OPENING   IN   THE    FOI?EST.  135 

from  them  as  when  they  first  set  out.  Still  it  was 
the  only  thing  that  they  could  do;  and  so,  as  they 
went  forward  on  this  day,  they  kept  up,  as  before, 
their  practice  of  calling  at  certain  intervals  of 
time. 

They  wandered  on  for  hour  after  hour.     The  air 
continued  close    and  sultry,  and   the   smoke  was 
most  unpleasantly  perceptible;  hut  this,  instead  of 
deterring  them,  only  nerved  them  to  fresh  efforts, 
since    it    never    ceased    to    suggest   to   them  the' 
thought    of    poor    Phil's    terrii.ie    sitm.tion.     One 
thing  consoled  them  ;  and  that  was,  the  discovery 
that  the  sultriness  and  the  smoke  had  grown  no 
worse    since    they    started,   hut    if  anvtliing    had 
ratlier  lessened.     This  they  were  glad  "of  ,,n'  Phil's 
account;   as  for  themselves,  however,  jt  was  cer- 
tainly bad  enough,  and  as  the  hours  passed,  their 
efforts  became  more  and  more  diilicult,  and  their 
labors  more  overpowering. 

At  last  the  v/oods  in  front  of  them  grewtliinner 
and  through  the  trees  they  Avei-e  able  to  see  morJ 
and  more  of  the  sky.  To  emerge  from  the  thick 
woods  into  any  open  place  wliatever  was  a  ph^as- 
ant  thought  to  all  of  them.  They  wondered  what 
it  could  be.  Solon)on  thought  that  it  was  some 
barren  district  bare  of  trees,  and  overgrown  with 
low  brush,  such  as  sometimes  t)ccurs  in  the  forest. 
Pat  thought  it  was  a  hd<e,  or  a  river,  or  a  swamp, 
or  something  of  that  sort.     Bart  exi)ected  to  find' 


136 


FIRE   IN   THE    WOODS. 


a  clearing  in  the  woods,  and  his  heart  beat  last 
with  joy  at  the  idea  of  finding  some  human  being 
who  could  tell  them  wliere  they  wliere.  With 
tliese  various  thouglits  and  feelings  they  hurried 
forward. 


^ 


THE   OPENING. 


137 


X. 


TJie  Opening.  —  The  Sea,  the  Sea,  the  open  Sea.  — 
The  Priest.  —  The  Promise  of  Help. —Pat  takes 

a  Wall',  and  passes  a  mijsteriows  Building. He 

takes  a  Swim.  —  7?  tmm  of  Pat.  —  A  terrific  Dis- 
covery.—Pat  in  a  Panic.  —  7'he  Scene  of  Horror. 
—  Smoke  and  Flame.  —  The  Fire  Glow  hi/  Night. 

WT  was  late  in  tlio  afternoon  when  tliey  reached 
Jj     that  opening-   in   the  woods  wliich  lia<l  snd- 
<lenly  appeared.     They   had    l)een    fearfnlly 
exhausted ;  tiiey  had  also  been  almost  ilimished.  anil 
were  without  any  prospeet  of  either  rest  or  food, 
when   that   opening-  appeared   before   them.     But 
the  sight  of  it  acted   upon  them  like  magic,  and 
seemed  to  drive  away  both  hunger  and  weariness. 
Instantly  their  pace  quickene(i    from    a   languid, 
laborious  walk  to  a  trot,  and  then  to  a  run,  as  "they 
hurried  forward,  eager   to  leaii.  what   this   place 
nn-ght  be.     Bart,  with  his  hope  of  finding  a  settle- 
ment  with   living    hnman    beings,  from  wlumi  he 
might    receive    information    and    assistance,    was 
most    excited,  and    was   the  first    to   quicki'n   his 
pace ;  and  the  sight  of  his  excited  eagerness  af- 


138 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


footed  Ill's  companions  witli  the  same  feelings. 
Thus  tliey  rusliod  forward,  and  in  a  short  time 
emerged  from  tlio  woods. 

An  open  field  lay  before  them,  in  which  stumps 
arose  here  and  there.  The  field  rose  with  a 
slight  ascent  to  an  elevation  which  shut  out  the 
scene  beyond.  It  was  not  the  "  Barrens,"  which 
Solomon  had  expected,  nor  yet  the  lake  or  swamp 
which  Pat  had  mentioned.  Bart  had  been  right. 
It  was  a  space  cleared  by  the  hand  of  man ;  but 
still  the  question  remained,  what  kind  of  a  settle- 
ment was  it,  and  of  what  extent.  For  a  moment 
they  paused  as  they  emerged  from  the  wood,  and 
then  they  all  hurried  rapidly  forward. 

As  they  hurried  forward  the  prospect  opened 
more  and  more,  until  they  gained  the  eminence ; 
and  then  what  a  scene  lay  before  them ! 

There,  full  before  them —  there,  to  their  speech- 
less amazement  —  lay  —  what?  Could  it  be  pos- 
sible. Did  their  eyes  deceive  them.  No.  It  was 
a  fact.     Yet,  how  amazing  I 

The  sea ! 

The  wide  and  boundless  sea ! 

Yes,  there  it  was,  beyond  the  possibility  of 
doubt — the  sea  —  the  sea  itself — no  river  —  no 
lake  —  but  the  sea,  and  nothing  else. 

Overhead  the  smoke  clouds  still  rolled,  as  before, 
in  vast  volunn"nous  folds,  curling,  and  turning,  and 
rolling,  and  lowering  down  close  to  the  earth, 
giving  to  all  nature   a  gloom  that  was  peculiar, 


THE    OI'ExV   SEA.  13{> 

and  not  without  terror.  But  bevond  tliis  lav  tlio 
sea;  and  it  stretched  far  away  to  the  horizon, 
reaching  ak)ng  tiiat  horizon  to  tlie  right  and  to  tlie 
left  as  tar  as  the  eye  could  wander.  It  was  the 
sea,  the  sea  itself;  and  they  had  wandered  far 
from  the  place  from  which  they  had  set  out,  to 
reach  such  a  goal  as  this. 

And  what  was  the  place  ? 

It  was  a  settlement  on  the  sea-shore.  Between 
them  and  that  sea-shore  there  extended  cultivated 
fields,  and  numerous  houses  dotted  the  green 
meadows,  and  groves,  and  out-houses,  and  barns. 
Farther  away,  and  nearer  the  sea,  they  noticed  a 
long,  low,  wdiite  building,  that  looked  like  a  strag- 
gling farm-house,  or  rather  two  or  three  farm- 
houses joined  in  one.  Some  people  could  be  seen 
at  the  door,  and  a  high  fence  surrounded  it. 
Between  this  building  and  the  place  where  they 
were  standing  a  road  ran,  and  along  this  road 
some  cattle  were  passing.  Beyond  the  building 
lay  a  sheet  of  water  that  looked  like  a  harbor, 
between  which  and  the  sea  extended  a  narrow 
spit  of  land  ;  in  several  of  the  fields  cattle  were 
grazing;  and  within  stone's  throw  they  saw  a  rude 
farm-house,  built  of  logs,  and  whitewashed. 

Pat  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence  into  Avhich 
they  had  been  thrown  by  the  utter  astonishment 
and  bewilderment  •  !'this  discovery. 

"  Sure  an  it's  dead  beat  I  am.  and  dumb  entirelv," 
he  exclaimed.     "  Ony  to  think  of  our  coming  out 


140 


FIRE   IN    THE    WOODS. 


of  tlio  wuds  to  tlio  say.  Sure  an  it  must  be 
Miramichi  itself,  so  it  must,  an  we've  been  a  wan- 
dlierin  through  tlie  wuds  sthraight  back  to  the 
place  we  dliruv  out  from  wid  do  lujin.  Ocli,  an, 
be  the  powers,  but  it's  a  quaire  wandherin  that 
we've  been  liavin.  Och,  but  I'll  nivir  git  over 
this." 

"  It  isn't  Mirami(^lii,"  said  Bart,  whom  Pat's  wild 
remarks  had  roused  from  the  stupor  into  which 
his  amazement  had  thrown  him.  "  It  isn't  Mira- 
michi," he  repeated;  "for  that's  a  river,  and  here 
we  have  the  open  sea  itself.  But  where  in  the 
world  we  have  got  to,  and  how  we've  got  here,  I 
confess  I  have  no  more  idea  than  a  stone." 

Bart's  surprise  was  certainly  greater  than  that 
of  either  of  his  companions,  and  very  naturally 
too.  For  he  had  thought  all  along  that  he  was 
going  west,  and  that  his  back  was  turned  to  the 
sea ;  but  now  he  found  that  his  actual  cimrse  had 
been  the  very  opposite  of  what  he  had  suj)posed, 
and  intended  it  to  be.  He  had  been  trying  to  get 
to  where  Pliil  was,  but  now  discovered  that  he 
had  been  going  away  from  him  all  the  time. 

The  discovery  of  the  truth  was  amazing,  be- 
wildering, and  at  the  same  time  humiliating  to  one 
who  liad  been  ofKciating  in  the  dignified  part  of 
leader  in  this  adventurous  and  eventful  journey. 
But  humiliating  as  it  was,  there  was  the  actual 
fact,  and  it  only  remained  to  find  out  the  name  of 
the  place  where  they  had  so   strangely  arrived. 


WHEREABOUTS    ASCERTAINED.  141 

In  spito  of  his  anxiety  about  Phil,  and  liis  mortifi- 
cation about  his  own  mistake,  Bart  was  not  al- 
together witiumt  a  feeling  of  relief  at  this  sight 
that  revealed  itself,  for  he  saw  human  habitations 
at  any  rate  ;  and  he  thought  that  he  would  now  be 
able  not  only  to  find  out  where  he  was,  but  also,  per- 
haps,  to  get  assistance,  and  thus  resume,  under 
more  favorable  circumstances,  the  difficult  task  of 
exploring  the  woods  in  search  of  Phil. 

"Well,"  said  he,  at  length,  "there's  no  use 
standing  here.  We're  somewhere,  and  the  best 
thing  wo  can  now  do  is  to  find  out  where  we  are. 
So  come  along.  We're  in  a  ])lace  where  we'll  be 
able  to  get  food  and  shelter,  at  any  rate." 

Saying  this,  he  started  offlbr  the  nearest  house, 
and  in  a  short  time  reached  it.  At  first  no  one' 
was  visible  ;  but  on  knocking  at  the  door  a  woman 
made  her  appearance. 

"We've  lost  our  way  in  the  woods,"  said  Cart. 
"Can  you  tell  me  what  i)lace  this  is?" 

The  woman  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then  at  Pat  and  Solomon.     Then  she  said,— 

"  This  place  ?  Why,  don't  you  know  this  place  ? 
This  is  Tracadie.'' 

"Tracadie!"  repeated  Bart.  The  name  was 
famdiar  to  him,  fi,r  he  had  often  seen  it  on  the 
map,  and  had  often  heard  it  mentioned.  He  knew 
it  as  a  small  settlement  on  the  shore  of  the  Gulf  of 
St.  Lawrence,  though  how  in  the  world  he  could 
ever  have  wandered  here  still  remained  a  profound 
mystery. 


142 


FIRE   IN   THE  WOODS. 


Bart  then  informed  her  tliat  one  of  his  party 
liad  been  lost  in  tlie  woods,  and  asked  lier  if  any 
boy  had  made  his  appearance,  or  had  been  heard 
of,  in  the  settlement.  The  woman  shook  her  head. 
Upon  this  Bart  asked  her  if  they  could  get  any 
one  in  the  place  to  help  them  go  off  in  search  of 
their  lost  friend.  The  woman  did  not  know,  but 
advised  them  to  see  the  priest,  and  offered  to  take 
them  to  the  priest's  house. 

This  house  was  not  far  away,  and  it  did  not 
take  long  to  reach  it.  It  was  a  pretty  little  cot- 
tage surrounded  by  trees,  situated  a  little  distance 
away  from  the  road.  Fortunately,  the  priest  was 
at  home.  He  was  a  wiry  little  man,  with  a  be- 
nevolent face  and  most  engaging  manners.  The 
moment  he  understood  their  errand,  he  insisted  on 
giving  them  something  to  eat  and  drink,  and  re- 
fused to  hear  anything  more  until  they  had  all 
satisfied  their  hunger. 

Thus,  then,  they  found  themselves  once  more 
under  a  roof,  after  their  long  and  eventful  wander- 
ing. This  was  the  fourth  day  since  their  depart- 
ure from  Miramichi.  The  first  day  they  had 
driven  for  some  twenty  miles  or  so,  and  had  walked 
far  enough  to  reach  a  point  which  must  have  been 
naarly  thirty  miles  from  their  starting-place.  The 
second  day  they  had  walked  ten  or  twelve  miles 
farther,  to  the  little  river,  where  they  had  fished. 
The  third  day  they  had  lost  themselves,  and  had 
wandered  from  early  dawn  till  dusk.     The  fourth 


THE    PRIEST. 


143 


clay  tliey  had  walked  since  daybreak,  and  had 
readied  Tracadie  towards  evening.  The  last  day 
had  been  tlie  most  fatiguing  of  all;  partly  on 
account  of  tlie  opi)ressiveness  of  the  atmosphere ; 
partly  because  their  provisions  had  given  out,  so 
that  they  had  to  Avalk  for  an  immense  distance 
without  any  food  ;  and  partly,  also,  because  their 
hopes  of  finding  Phil  had  died  out,  leaving  them 
in  a  state  of  deep  depression. 

On  hearing  their  story,  the  priest  showed  th<=i 
deepest  sympathy,  and  promised  to  do  all  that  he 
could. 

"  You  wish,"  said  he,  "  to  go  back  to  the  woods 
again,  and  take  a  guide  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  we  can  find  one." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  know  of  one  or  two  men  who 
will  be  suitable  ;  and  if  they  are  at  home,  they 
will  be  able  to  start  as  soon  as  you  wish." 

"  How  near  do  3^ou  think  tiiis  fire  is  ?  "  asked 
Bart,  anxiously.  "  Is  there  any  likelihood  that  it 
is  at  all  near  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  there  is,"  said  the  priest. 

"  Are  these  woods  often  on  fire  ?  " 

"  Pretty  often,  in  different  places.  These  woods, 
in  fact,  are  famous  for  fires.  You've  heard  of  the 
Great  Fire  of  Miramichi  ?  I  can  tell  you  all  about 
th.  t  —  l)ut  not  now.  These  woods  are  a  younger 
growth  ;  the  old  forest  was  all  swept  away." 

At  the  mention  of  this  Great  Fire,  of  which  he 
had  heard,  Bart's  heart  sank  within  him.     It  was 


& 


l-l'l  FIRE   IN   THE    WOODS. 

indeed  a  place  of  ill  omen  where  poor  Phil  had  lost 
himself;  and  what  chance  could  there  be  ior  him 
in  the  presence  of  the  merciless  fire? 

"  I  can't  make  out  the  place  where  your  friend 
was  lost,"  said  the  priest;  "but  I  dare  sny  the 
men  I'll  bring  will  be  able  to  understand  where  it 
is.  They've  been  all  through  the  woods  in  all 
directions,  and  ought  to  know  every  stream  and 
every  rock  in  it.  Big  rocks  are  not  common  here, 
and  the  one  you  speak  of  ought  to  be  a  very  con- 
spicuous landmark.  But  1  won't  delay  now  any 
longer.  I'll  go  off  at  once ;  and  I  hope  you'll 
make  yourselves  comfortal)le  till  I  return." 

The  priest  was  a  Frenchman ;  but  he  had  lived 
here  many  years,  and  he  s})oke  English  almost  like 
a  native.  His  eager  oiler  of  help  and  active  as- 
sistance greatly  encouraged  them,  and  they  hoped 
for  the  best.  Pat,  in  particular,  sluMved  this  feel- 
ing in  the  strongest  manner.  He  had  been  quite 
silent  during  the  latter  part  of  the  walk,  owing  to 
fiitigue  and  hunger  combined  ;  but  now  the  short 
rest  had  refreshed  him,  aud  the  rei)ast  had 
strengthened  and  cheered  him.  He  accepted  the 
promise  of  the  priest  as  almost  a  certain  token  of 
success,  and  at  once  regained  all  his  habitual  con- 
fidence, and  indulged  in  a  long  series  of  rattling, 
joyous  remarks  as  to  Phil's  present  condition,  and 
the  probable  state  of  his  mind  when  they  should 
find  him. 

At  lejjgth  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and  said  he  was 


PAT  TAKES   A   WALK.  Ht) 

goinj?   out   to   take   a  walk.     Ifo   jiskcd  Bart  and 
Solomon   to   go  with    liiiii  ;   hut  liolli  doclined.     In 
spite  of  his  long  walk  J\it  eouhl   not  ^it  still,  but 
was   restless  and   fidgety,  and  wanted  to  be  mov- 
ing about,  even  thougli  his   legs  were  yet  aching 
from  their  long  and  arduous  tramp.     80,  leaving 
Bart  and   i?olomon,  he  went  out  of  the  house  and 
along  the  road.     After  a  while  he  came  to  another 
road,  which  led  down  to  the  water.     It  led  to  tluit 
irregular  whitewashed   building  which    they   had 
seen   from    the   eminence  as    they  first   emerged 
from  the  wood.    Pat's  idea  of  the  place  was,  that  it 
was  an  inn;  and  so  he  sauntered  along  with  the  in- 
tention of  reaching  the  water  and  having  a  swim. 
As  he  approached  the  house,  he  noticed  some- 
thing very  dreary  and  repellent  in  its  appearance. 
Tiie  high  fence  around  the  adjacent  ground  gave 
it  the   air  of  a  prison.     Several   people  were    in 
front  of  it,  most  of  them   sitting  down.     As  Pat 
passed  on  he  noticed  that  some  of  these  had  their 
heads  bound  up  ;  others  had  their  arms  in  slings  ; 
others   had   faces  that  were   pale  and  emaciated. 
All  of  them  watched   him    with    wistful,    curious 
eyes  ;  with  such  looks  as  prisoners  give  through 
their  jail  windows  at  the  passer-by.     This  strange 
look  filled  Pat  with  still  greater  surprise. 

"  It  must  be  a  hospital,"  he  thought ;  "  but  what 
'ud  they  be  wantin  of  a  hospital  in  a  scrap  of 
a  place  like  this?" 

"  Perhaps,"  he  thought  again,  "  it's  a  watherin 
10 


•v- 


146  FIHK    IN   THE   WOODS. 

place,  an  tlicso  are  si(;k  piM )])!(;  tliat  liave  come 
here  to  l)e  tliraitecl  wi<l  tliu  custlioiiiarv  rimidios." 

Passing  hy  this  place,  lie  at  length  leaehed  the 
beach,  and  walked  along  it  for  some  distance  be- 
fore he  found  a  place  wiiich  aj)peared  altogether 
suitable  for  his  swim.  About  a  mile  away  there 
ran  a  long  spit  of  land,  which  seemed  to  shut  out 
this  piece  of  water  from  the  outer  sea,  and  made 
it  seem  like  a  lake.  The  water  was  cidm  nnd  de- 
liciously  warm.  Pat  sprang  in,  and  dived,  and 
swam,  and  floundered  about  for  a  long  time ;  and 
when  at  length  he  returned  to  the  shore,  he  felt 
reinvigorated  in  every  limb.  All  his  fatigue 
seemed  to  have  departed,  and  he  felt  almost  fresh 
enough  to  begin  a  new  tramp  through  the  woods. 

The  priest  returned  after  a  short  absence,  bring- 
ing two  men  with  him.  They  were  both  French, 
and  spoke  only  broken  English.  They  listened  to 
the  story  of  Bart,  and  asked  a  number  of  particu- 
lar questions  about  the  stream  and  the  rock.  They 
declared  that  they  knew  the  place  perfectly  well; 
that  there  was  only  one  rock  of  that  description 
in  the  country,  and  that  the  place  was  about  thirty 
miles  away  ;  by  which  Bart  began  to  understand 
more  clearly  the  full  magnitude  of  his  tramp. 
The  men  expressed  a  willingness  to  go  whenever 
they  were  wanted,  and  it  was  finally  agreed  that 
they  should  start  at  daybreak  on  the  following 
morning.  With  this  understanding,  the  men  took 
their  departure. 


THE    LEPERS. 


147 


It  was  dnsk  when  I^it  retnrnod.  He  came 
towards  tlie  house  wiiistling  as  cheerily  as  a  l)ir(|, 
and  the  inuinent  lie  entered  he  hepm  telling-  what 
a  delicious  walk  he  had  had.  He  then  thou^iit  of 
the  strange  building  near  the  shore,  and  asked  the 
priest  what  it  was. 

"That?"  said  the  priest.     ''0,  that's  the  Laza- 
retto." 

"  The  Lazaretto  ?  "  repeated  Pat,  not  understand- 
ing him. 

"  Yes,"   said  the   priest ;   "  have  you  nut  heard 
of  it  ?  " 

"The    Lazaretto  —  niver   a    word    surely.     An 
what  is  the  Lazaretto,  thin?" 

"  0,  it's  a  place  where  we  keep  lepers." 

''  Lepers  !  "  cried  Pat,  in  a  voice  of  horror  ;  and 
his  ruddy  face  changed  to  a  sickly  pallor. 

"  Lepers  ?  "  said  Bart.     -  Lepers  ?     What,  lepers 
here,  in  this  country  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  priest.  "  It's  a  miserable  story. 
A  great  many  years  ago  a  French  ship  was 
wrecked  in  the  Mirainichi  River.  There  were  some 
clothing  and  l)eddiiig  on  board  that  came  from  the 
Levant,  and  the  people  here  used  them  ;  and  it  is 
said  that  from  this  clothing  they  caught  this  terri- 
ble disease.  It  has  continued  here  ever  since,  and 
the  place  has  been  established  here  for  the  poor 
creatures." 

''  Lepers  !  "  groaned  Pat  again.     -  An  me  walkin 
by  that  place,  and  thinkin  of  goiu  in." 


148 


PI  HE   IN   Tin-:   WOODS. 


"  It's  a  terrible  tliingy'  said  tlie  priest.  "  Tlie 
patients  who  go  tliere  are  rlead  to  their  friends. 
They  never  can  liope  to  see  them  again." 

"  Och,  murdher  !  "  cried  Pat,  starting  up. 
"  What'll  iver  become  of  me  ?  Och,  nnirdher  ! 
Why  didn't  somebody  tell  me?" 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  asked  the  priest,  in 
surprise. 

"  Och,  everything's  the  matther.  Sure,  an  didn't 
1  go  an  swim  lor  over  hall'  an  hour  in  the  leper 
watlier,  down  yondher?  " 

''  Leper  water  ?  "  said  the  priest.  "  What  is 
that?" 

'*  Sure,  the  lake  down  there,  or  the  cove,  or 
whatever  ye  call  it.  Don't  tliey  all  go  there  an 
bathe?" 

"  1  dare  say  they  do  :  but  what  of  that  ?  " 

"  Och,  murdher  !  Tlie  wather's  all  fairly  pisoned 
wid  tlie  leprosy,  an  I'm  lost  and  gone  intirely." 

'^  Nonsense,"  said  the  priest ;  "  don't  be  alarmed. 
It  isn't  contagious." 

''  Sure,  an  how  do  I  k.-ow  that  it  isn't?  " 

The  priest  smiled. 

''  Why,"  said  ho,  "  I'm  a  proof  of  that,  I  suppose. 
I've  lived  here  a  great  many  years,  and  I've  visited 
the  poor  creatures  all  that  time  reguhirly.  I've 
shaken  hands  with  them,  and  attended  to  all  the 
duties  of  religion  among  them,  but  without  any 
evil  consequences." 

As  the  priest  said  this,  Pat  rose  slowly  to  his 


TAT    IN    TEHROR. 


UD 


feet,  witli  a  face  of  perfect  horror.  Even  Bart  ex- 
perienced a  slight  feeling  of  repngnance  as  he 
thought  that  ho  was  in  familiar  intercourse  with 
one  who  had  been  so  much  in  contact  with  lepers. 
But  the  priest's  calm,  good-natured  face,  and  his 
assurance  that  the  disease  was  not  contagious, 
quelled  his  rising  fears,  and  the  thought  of  that 
priest's  self  sacrifice  made  him  feel  ashamed  of  that 
cowardly  feelinii". 

But  with  Pat  it  was  different.  The  thought 
that  the  priest  had  touched  the  lepers ;  that  on 
this  very  day  he  may  have  been  there  shaking 
hands  with  them  ;  that  ho  had  been  coming  and 
going  for  years  between  his  house  and  the  Laza- 
retto,—  all  this  filled  hii.i  with  terroy.  If  that 
disease  had  been  originaliv  comnumicated  by 
means  of  clothing,  why  should  it  not  yet  com- 
nnmicate  itself  in  the  same  way  ?  The  whole 
house  nn'ght  be  reeking  with  the  insidious  seeds 
of  the  deadly  disease. 

The  thought  was  too  horrible. 

He  nnirmured  some  inarticulate  words,  and  went 
out  of  the  house. 

The  priest  went  on  talking  with  Bart,  and  for  a 
long  time  no  notice  was  taken  of  Pat's  absence. 
But  hours  passed,  and  bedtime  came,  and  still 
there  were  no  signs  of  him.  Bart  went  out  to  call 
him. 

Pat  was  not  visible:  but  Bart  saw  a  sight  that 
drove  all  thoughts  of  Pat  out  of  his  mind.     Pat,  in 


■▼■ 


150 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


fact,  liad  fled,  determining  to  sleep  anywhere 
rather  than  in  tlie  priest's  house ;  and  so  Bart  saw 
no  signs  of  liim.  But  the  sight  that  lie  did  see 
was  awful  beyond  description. 

There,  where  his  eyes  first  turned,  he  saw  the 
gloomy  shadow  of  the  forest.  Overhead  the  sky 
was  filled  with  rolling  smoke  clouds;  and  im- 
mediately above  the  range  of  the  forest  trees 
there  was  a  long  line  of  red,  —  dull,  lurid,  dark,— 
yet  sustained  and  uin'ntermittent,  lying  like  a 
foundation  of  fire  under  all  the  moving  mass  of 
smoke. 

The  priest  had  followed  him  out.  He  looked  at 
it  for  some  time  in  silence. 

"  The  fire  is  nearer,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  And  there  is  where  we  must  go  to-morrow  " 
said  Bart ;  '♦  and  Phil  is  there  ! " 

The  priest  said  nothing. 

Where  —  where  —  0,  where  is  Phil  ?  Such  was 
now  the  one  thought  of  Bart's  mind. 


CONJECTURES   ABOUT   PHIL. 


151 


XI. 

^je  0,  lohere  is  PldU-The  Wanderer  in  the 
Woods.  -  Strufjijles  loith  DlgieidtAes  that  always 
mcrexse,  ~  Approach  of  Night.  -  Gloom.  -  De- 
spair. —  Cllmbiwj  a  Tree.  —  No  Hope.  —  liallu- 
mgfrora  the  Assault.  —  A  Midmght  Meal.  ~  Over- 
worn  Nature  seeks  liepose. 

fJjppriERE,  0,  where  was  Phil  ? 

Had  lie  indeed  fallen  a  victim  to  the 
vengeance  of  the  Indian?  or  had  he  wan- 
dered  away  through  those  terri!,le  woods  to  en- 
counter  the  fires,  and  to  perish  by  them  ? 

While  Bart  is  racking  his  mind  with  these  anx- 
lous  questions,  and  trying  in  vain  to  answer 
them,  let  us  leave  hiin  and  follow  the  fortunes  of 
the  wanderer. 

The  rock  that  had  risen  on  the  shore  of  the 
river  extended  for  ahout  a  hundred  yards.  Phil 
could  have  crossed  the  river  and  g<me  down  on 
tlie  other  side,  but  it  seemed  swampv  over  there 
and  he  thought  it  would  be  easier  to  pass  over  the' 
rock.  He  also  thought  that  there  might  be  some 
v.ow  from  the  top  which  would  give  him  a  general 
idea  of  the  country. 


'  1.^ 


152 


FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


He  therefore  started  off,  and  clanihered  to  the 
top  of  the  rock.  On  reacliiiig  it,  liowever,  lie 
did  not  find  any  view  in  particnhir,  for  the  trees 
around  it  rose  so  hig'h  that  tliey  intercepted  the 
prospect.  ITe  therefore  went  on,  intending  to 
reach  tlie  river  ap;-ain  lower  down.  On  traversing 
the  rock  and  reaching  its  lower  end,  he  found  that 
it  terminated  in  an  abrupt  preci[)ice.  This  preci- 
pice here  ran  back  from  the  river  into  the  woods, 
and  if  Phil  still  wished  to  reach  the  lower  part  of 
the  stream,  he  saw  that  it  would  be  necessary  to 
go  back  into  the  woods  till  he  found  a  place  where 
he  could  clamber  down  the  side  of  the  rock.  Pie 
therefore  set  off  in  that  direction,  expecting  that 
he  would  only  have  to  go  a  short  distance.  But 
the  rock  ran  on  much  firther  than  he  had  sup- 
posed; and  it  was  still  too  precipitous  for  him  to 
descend.  Along  the  edge  there  was  a  dense 
growth  of  underbrush  which  prevented  his  walk- 
ing close  to  it,  and  forced  him  to  go  along  at  some 
distance  away  from  it,  and  penetrate  from  time  to 
time  to  the  edge,  to  see  if  he  had  reached  any 
place  which  offered  a  descent. 

At  length  the  rock  subsided  into  the  ground, 
and  then  Phil  was  able  to  seek  the  river.  He 
walked  along  for  some  time  in  that  direction,  keep- 
ing the  line  of  rock  in  sight  as  a  guide ;  but  at 
length  the  woods  became  so  exceedingly  dense 
that  it  was  quite  impossible  to  keep  the  rock  in 
sight  always.     He  therefore  wandered  off  at  times 


THE  WANDERER  IN  THE  WOODS. 


153 


to  avoid  (lifHcult  pb^ces,  returning  again  as  soon  as 
convenient  to  seek  the  guidance  of  his  landmark. 
At  length  lie  plunged  into  a  very  dense  and  dif- 
ficult part  of  the  forest,  where  he  had  to  make  so 
many  turns  and  detuurs  to  avoid  the  obstacles  that 
rose  in  his  way,  tiiat  he  soon  lost  all  idea  of  the 
right  direction.  He  struggled  onward,  however, 
striving  to  get  into  the  open  from  which  he  might 
gain  sight  of  his  rock  ;  but  the  farther  he  went  on- 
ward, the  more  difficult  did  it  seem  to  grow,  and 
the  less  prospect  was  there  of  any  open  ground. 
Upon  this  he  turned,  and  tried  to  retrace  his  steps, 
anxious  at  all  hazards  to  get  free  from  this  en- 
tanglement. But  to  retrace  his  steps  was  not  so 
easy.  He  had  got  in,  but  to  get  ou^  was  a  dif- 
ferent matter  altogether.  His  frequent  turnings 
and  twistings  had  already  bewildered  him;  and  as 
he  had  ^  till  to  keep  up  the  same  crooked  course, 
and  turh  and  twist  as  much  as  ever,  his  bewilder- 
ment increased.  Still  he  was  not  at  all  alarmed  as 
yet,  for  the  thought  of  any  actual  danger  had  not 
begun  to  occur.  He  was  only  perplexed,  and  at 
the  same  time  slightly  vexed  at  the  continuance 
of  the  jungle  into  which  he  had  tumbled.  There 
was  no  help  for  it,  however;  and  so  ho  toiled  on  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  at  lengtii,  to  his  satisfac- 
tion, found  the  underbrush,  diminishing  very  per- 
ceptibly. This  discovery  encouraged  him,  and  he 
k'jpt  on  in  this  direction,  for  now  his  chief  desire 
was,  first  of  all,  to  get  to  some  place  where  he 


154 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


could  regain  sight  of  the  rock ;  and  so  lie  walked 
on  as  rapidly  as  possible,  until  at  length  the  woods 
became  sufficiently  open  to  make  his  progress  as 
easy  as  he  could  expect. 

It  seemed  to  him  now  that  he  had  been  a  long 
time  wandering,  and  he  began  to  bo  anxious  to 
discover  the  rock.  How  to  do  so  ho  did  not  know, 
and  could  only  think  of  climbing  a  tree  so  as  to 
take  a  survey  of  the  country.  Unfortunately  none 
of  the  trees  were  very  large  ;  but  he  selected  the 
tallest  one  that  he  could  find,  and  climbed  up  as 
high  ;  s  he  could.  He  now  looked  all  around. 
The  prospect  gave  but  little  satisfaction.  On 
every  side  other  trees  arose  above  the  level  of  his 
outlook,  and  shut  out  from  view  the  scene  beyond. 
He  therefore  learned  nothing  whatever  from  this 
survey,  and  was  compelled  to  descend  disap- 
pointed. What  now  to  do  became  a  serious  ques- 
tion. There  was  the  rock,  and  there  was  the 
river,  either  of  which  it  would  be  equally  ad- 
visable to  regain ;  but  in  what  direction  did  they 
lie?  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  rock  ought  to  be 
west  of  his  present  position,  and  the  river  south. 
If  he  could  go  either  westward,  or  southward,  or 
in  any  intermediate  direction,  he  woidd  regain  his 
course.  Yet  that  was  the  very  thing  that  he 
was  unable  to  do.  He  had  no  compass,  and  now 
bitterly  regretted  that  he  had  not  brought  one. 
Overhead  there  was  nothing  that  could  afford  him 
any    assistance,  for  the    sky  was   all  overspread 


STRUGGLES    WITH    DIFFICULTIES.  155 

with  tliat  smoke  which  lie  had  noticed  all  along, 
and  tiie  sun  could  not  be  seen.  There  was  noth' 
ing  left,  therefore,  but  bare  conjecture. 

He    now    tried,  as  fkr  as  possible,  to  recall  his 
confused  wanderings.     Although  he  could  not,  of 
course,  recall  the   details  of  his  journey,  yet,  as  he 
tliought   it   over,   it   seemed  to  him  that,  oil  the 
whole,  he  had   been  making  progress  in  some  one 
direction,  and  that,   if  he   could  but  go  back,  he 
would  be  more  likely  to   reach  the   river  or  the 
rock  than  in  any  other  way.     As  he  looked  back 
over  his   course,  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  west 
lay  there,  and  to  the  left  of  that  was  the  south ; 
so  that  if  he  could  now  only  effect  some  progress 
m  that  direction,  all  would  be  well.     He  therefore 
made  up  his  mind  to  go  back  again,  as  far  as  going 
back  over  his  lost  track  was  possible;  and  as  he 
could  not  think  of  plunging  again  into  that  thick- 
et, he  thought  that  when  he  reached  it  he  would 
turn  to  the   left,  and   avoid  it  if  possible  in  that 

Accordingly,  he  now  set  out  in  the  endeavor  to 
go  back  on  his  path.  No  vestige  of  anything  like 
a  trad  appeared  to  him,  nor  was  the're  a  single 
thing  that  he  remembered  having  seen  before. 
He  walked  on  now  for  a  long  time,  expecting 
every  moment  to  reach  that  tangled  thicket  which 
lie  had  cimsidered  as  the  chief  difficulty  in  his 
way  back.  To  his  utter  amazement,  he  came  across 
no  tangled  thicket  of  any  kind  whatever.      The 


j 


156  FIRE   IN   THE    WOODS. 

woods,  instead  of  growing  denser,  seemed  to  grow 
more  open,  and  his  progress  grew  easier.  The 
woods  now  were  precisely  hke  what  they  had  been 
during  their  walk  early  in  the  day. 

At  first  he  felt  only  surprise  ;  but  soon  surprise 
deepened  into  uneasiness,  and  uneasiness  into  anx- 
iety. Where  was  he?  In  what  direction  was 
he  going  ?  What  should  he  do  if  he  were  going 
wrong?  Such  were  the  thoughts  that  came  to 
him.  At  length  his  anxiety  grew  so  strong,  and 
he  became  so  convinced  that  his  course  was  alto- 
gether wrong,  that  he  stopped,  and  again  tried  to  [ 
think  how  he  might  rectify  his  error.  Once  more 
he  climbed  a  tree,  but  with  the  same  result  as  be- 
fore. The  tops  of  other  trees  were  all  around. 
Nothing  appeared  which  could  act  as  a  guide. 
Overhead,  the  smoky  covering  which  overspread 
the  skies  shut  out  all  traces  of  the  sun  ;  and  when 
he  descended  to  the  ground,  there  l)egan  to  dawn 
upon  him  the  conviction,  which  grew  stronger 
and  stronger  every  moment,  that  he  was  actually 
lost!  hopelessly  and  utterly  lost!  and  that,  too,  in 
a  trackless  and  uninhabited  forest. 

His  only  hope  was,  that  he  h;id  not  gone  very 
far  away,  but  was  still,  if  not  within  sight  of  his 
friends,  at  least  within  hearing.  So  upon  this  he 
began  to  do  what  he  now  knew  he  ought  to  have 
done  before.  He  began  to  call  in  a  loud  voice 
after  Pat,  and  Bart,  and  Solomon.  After  each 
call  he  stopped  and  listened  for  an  answer.     But 


APPROACH    OF   MfiFIT.  157 

no  answer  came,  and  his  own  calls  echoed  far  away 
throiigli  the  forest  aisles,  and  it  was  only  the 
mocking  sound  of  these  echoes  that  came  to  his 
ears.  Still  he  thought  that  if  he  persevered  loug 
enough,  some  response  must  finally  come.  He 
thought  they  must  he  near  enough  to  hear  him, 
but  were  too  intent  u])on  their  fishing  to  think  of' 
him,  or  to  notice  his  cries.  Besides,  he  took  com- 
fort in  the  thought  that  they  had  not  yet  missed 
him,  and  consequently  would  not  be  on  the  alert. 
His  cries  might  be  faint  in  their  ears,  and  not 
excite  any  notice. 

The  time  passed,  and  still  he  kept  up  his  cries. 
He  called  in  every  possible  tone,  and  made  use  of 
every  shout  that  his  voice  could  compass,  some- 
times calling  their  names,  sometimes  uttering 
shrieks,  and  howls,  and  shrill  yells.  But  all  these 
were  unavailing,  and  he  was  at  last  compelled  to 
desist,  from  utter  weariness  and  loss  of  voice. 

And  now  he  noticed  that  it  began  to  grow 
darker.  At  first  this  discovery  gave  him  an  un- 
pleasant shock,  but  immediately  he  began  to  find 
comfort  in  this  circumstance. 

"  When  it  grows  dark,"  he  thought,  "  they'll 
1T,>  IS  me,  and  they'll  come  to  hunt  me  up.  They'll 
hear  me  if  I  call— or,  better  yet,  they  themselves 
will  now  do  the  shouting,  and  I'll  hear  them." 

With  this  thought  he  kept  perfectly  still.  The 
darker  it  grew,  the  more  intently  did  he  listen  ; 
for  he  was  convinced  that  by  this  time  they  must 


158  FIRE    IN   THE   AVOODS. 

have  discovered  his  absence,  and  must  be  search- 
ing after  him.  The  only  thing  tliat  troul)led  liim 
was  tlie  remembrance  of  his  last  words  to  Pat. 
He  had  tohl  Pat  tliat  lie  was  going  down  the 
stream,  and  they  might  make  their  first  search 
after  him  in  that  direction,  and  tliis  he  did  not 
think  would  bring  them  witiiin  hearing;  for  though 
he  had  no  idea  where  he  was,  he  still  had  every 
reason  to  believe  that  he  was  nowhere  near  the 
river. 

It  now  grew  darker  and  darker ;  yet  still  to  his 
strained  ears  there  had  not  come  a  single  sound 
to  tell  him  that  his  friends  were  near ;  not  a  sin- 
gle cry,  however  faint,  however  remote,  to  make 
known  to  him  that  they  were  on  the  search  after 
him.  As  the  time  passed  away,  the  long,  long 
suspense  and  the  protracted  disa])pointment  be- 
gan to  fill  him  with  the  deepest  gloom  —  and  he 
began  to  know  to  its  fullest  extent  that  "  agony 
of  hope  deferred  that  maketh  the  heart  sick." 
At  length  it  grew  so  dai-k,  that  even  his  hope, 
tenacious  as  it  was,  could  no  longer  shut  out  from 
his  mind  the  conviction  that  wjiatever  anxiety  his 
friends  might  feel,  it  was  simply  impossible  for 
them  at  this  time  to  make  any  search  whatever. 
If  they  had  missed  him,  and  had  sought  for  liim, 
they  must  have  gone  in  a  direction  different  from 
that  in  which  he  had  gone,  and  must  have  been 
altogether  out  of  hearing. 

As  soon  as  he  fully  recognized  this  fact,  all  his 


GLOOM.  159 

energies   gave  way,  and   he  sank  down  upon  the 
ground.     Not   until   this  moment  had   he    known 
how  exhausted  he   was,  and  how  oppressive  the 
sultry  atmosphere.     Thus  far  his  excitement,  first 
to  regain  his  lost  path,  and  latterly  to  communicate 
with  in's  friends  or  hear  from  them,  liad  so  taken 
possession   of  him,  that  heat  or   fatigue,  or  any 
other  bodily  sensation,  was  not  noticed.     Anxiety, 
eager  efibrt,  pertinacious  hope,  —  all  these  had  by 
turns  influenced    him ;  but  now,  as  there  seemed 
no  further  chance  either  for  action  or  for  expecta- 
tion, his   strength  collapsed,  and  he  gave  way  ut- 
terly.    He   lay  upon  the  ground,  his  head  resting 
upon   some  moss,  and  yielded  himself  up  both  in 
mind  and   in  body  to  the  misery  of  jiis  situation. 
The  severe  exertions  that  he  had  made  had  utter- 
ly exhausted  him;  the  conflict  of  soul  that  he  had 
endured,  had  intensified  that  exhaustion  ;  and  for 
a  long  time   he   remained  motionless,  gasping  for 
breath,  and  in  a  state  of  utter  despair. 

Now,  the  night  came  down  —  sultry,  torrid,  op- 
pressive, suffocating.  Its  intense  blackness  cov- 
ered everything  in  an  impenetrable  veil.  Its  efl 
feet  upon  the  others  has  already  been  described, 
and  u})on  Phil  it  produced  results  more  fearful 
still.  Had  it  not  been  for  that  unusual  oppressive- 
ness and  that  Egyptian  darkness,  he  might  have 
roused  himself;  but  as  it  was,  he  gave  up  utterly, 
and  remained  sunk  in  the  profoundest  despair  for 
hours. 


160  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

At  length  a  change  came  over  him.  In  spite 
of  the  heat  of  the  night,  the  k)ng  rest  had  heen 
beneficial,  and  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things 
that  emotions  so  strong  sliould  last  very  long. 
Phil's  mind  was  buoyant,  his  temper  cheerful,  and 
hope  was  ahvays  strong  in  his  soul.  As  he  lay 
there  sleepless,  his  thoughts  began  to  revolt 
against  the  gloom  that  had  overwhelmed  him. 

"  What  a  fool  I  am  !  '•  he  thought,  rousing  him- 
self, and  sitting  up.  "After  all,  what  is  it?  and 
why  should  I  knock  under  this  way?  Me,  too  —  of 
all  fellows  !  after  that  tremendous  adventure  at 
the  Falls." 

The  mcmient  his  thoughts  reverted  to  that  fear- 
ful adventure  his  gloom  vanished.  He  now  re- 
called the  incidents  of  that  terrific  event.  He 
thought  of  the  frenzied  struggle  against  the  grip 
of  the  resistless  waters  ;  he  thought  of  the  wild 
plunge  into  the  seething  flood,  and  of  that  horrible 
moment  when  the  rolling  torrents  overwhelmed 
him,  and  hurled  him  downward  into  awful  depths. 
Then  he  recalled  the  events  of  their  drift  down 
the  harbor,  and  out  towards  the  bay,  when  there 
seemed  not  the  faintest  chance  of  escape. 

In  comparison  with  this  his  present  situation 
seemed  trifling.  To  be  lost  in  the  woods,  what 
was  that?  Was  it  equal  to  being  lost  in  the  terri- 
ble tide,  and  environed  in  impenetrable  fogs  ? 
Could  it  under  any  possiblity  be  so  bad  as  being 
swept  out  to  sea,  a  helpless  victim  of  the  pitiless 


SADNESS   GIVES   WAY   TO   CHEERFULNESS.        161 

waves?    Tliere  was  no  comparison  between  tlie 
two  cases. 

And  now  his  flopression  lied,  and  the  buoyancy 
of  liis  soul  lifted  him  up  to  hope.     He  began  to 
think  over  his  prospects  cheerfully,  and  to  maivc 
phins  about  the  lullowing  day.     As   soon  as  day- 
light  came,  his    friends   would    at  once   come  in 
search  of   him.     lie  would  listen  and  hear  their 
calls.     If  lie  could  not  think  of  any  direction  in 
which  to  go,  he  could  wait.     But  as  to  that,  he  did 
not  expect  to  be  so  puzzled  as  he  had  been.     The 
sun  would  surely  shine,  and  tliat  would  give  him 
an  idea  of  east,  west,  north,  and  south.     He  might 
then   choose   his  route,  and   follow  it  up.     If 'liis 
friends  did  not  come,  he  could  go  off  himself,  and 
doubtless  he  would  reach  some  place  eventually. 
He  might  find  some  stream,  and  follow  it  to  its 
mouth,  where  there  would  be  sure  to  be  a  settle- 
ment ;  or  perhaps  he  might  light  upon  some  clear- 
ing  in  the  woods  where  he  might  obtain  help,  and 
perhaps  regain  his  friends. 

Thus  Phil's  thoughts  grew  more  and  more  cheer- 
ful ;  and  ho  looked  forward  most  hopefully,  and 
persisted  in  putting  the  best  appearance  on  things. 
At  length  he  began  to  think  that  his  long  fast  was 
not  good  for  him,  especially  as  he  might  have  some 
hard  work  to  do  on  the  morrow  ;  so  he  opened  his 
basket,  and  taking  out  his  sandwiches  that  he  had 
carried  there  all  the  day,  he  made  a  hearty  meal. 
The  effect  was  most  beneficial ;  the  hollow,  craving, 


.''-""'■TT'' 


162 


FIRE   ly  THE  WOODS. 


gnawing  feeling  that   had   distressed   him  passed 
away,  and  was  succeeded  by  a  sense  of  condbrt. 

And  now  drowsiness  began  to  steal  over  him. 
He  had  satisfied  his  hunger ;  he  had  overcome  by 
his  long  rest  the  first  painful  exhaustion  and 
fatigue  consequent  upon  his  severe  exertions ; 
above  all,  his  mind  had  attained  a  pleasant  state  of 
cheerfulness  and  hope.  There  were  no  longer  any 
despairing  thoughts  or  terrible  fears  to  excite  him 
and  keep  him  awake  ;  and  so  at  length  he  fell  into 
a  sound  and  refreshing  sleep. 


THE    WANDERER    ON    HIS   WINDING   WAY. 


163 


XII. 

The  JVandoer  on  Ids  windimj  Way.  —  The  Be- 
loildeiinent  of  the  Forest.  —  Swamjts  and  Bogs. — 
The/rieiidh/  Brook.  —  Followlh(j  the  Flow  of  the 
runniiKj  IVater.  —  A  'pleasant  Coarse.  —  An 
eiieourayiiuj  Diseovery. — Astray  once  more. — 
He  sinks  to  Best.  —  The  last  Sandwich. 


3*T  was  very  late  wlien  Phil  fell  asleep,  and  his 
•  liiti^iu^  and  exhaustion  eonihined  to  make  his 
sleep  heavy  and  prolon^^ed.  As  there  were 
no  sounds  to  hi'eak  in  upon  his  slumbers,  he  con* 
tinned  sleepinjj;  until  late  on  the  following  day. 
On  awakiuL,"  lie  raised  himself  up,  and  looked 
around  in  suiprise,  tor  in  his  dreams  he  had  been 
wandering  among  tiimiUar  scenes,  and  it  was  some 
time  belbre  he  could  comprehend  his  j)resent  situa- 
tion. I>ut  his  mossy  bed  at  the  loot  of  a  largo 
ma[)le  tree,  and  (he  woods  that  extended  all  around 
on  every  side,  soon  enabh'd  him  to  recall  the 
events  of  the  preceding  day,  and  to  understand 
liow  he  earner   here. 

These   recollections  were  not  cheerful,  nor  was 
it  a  pleasant  change  to  turn  from  happy  dreams  to 


164  FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 

such  an  awakening  as  tin's ;  yet  Pliil  was  not  cast 
down.  lie  still  felt  the  beneficial  efl'ect  of  tlsose 
better  thoughts  of  the  night  before  ;  and  still 
retained  that  buoyancy  of  spirit  and  that  hopeful- 
ness which  he  had  felt  on  going  to  sleep. 

And  now  another  day  had  dawned,  with  its  pos- 
sibilities lor  good  and  evil.  His  watch  told  him,  to 
his  amazement,  that  it  was  after  ten  o'clock.  Ten 
o'clock  !  After  ten  o'clock,  and  yet  no  signs  of 
Bart  and  the  others!  What  did  this  mean? 
Had  they  neglected  him  so  long?  Neglected 
him?  No.  1'hey  could  not  do  that;  but  was  it 
not  possible  that  during  his  sleep  they  may  have 
wandered  about  these  woods  near  him,  iuid  called 
to  him  while  he  could  not  hear  them  ?  This  was  a 
most  distressing  thought,  and  if  such  a  thing  had 
hap])ened,  its  result  vvoidd  bring  a  twofold  evil ; 
lor  in  the  first  place,  he  would  have  missed  the 
chance  of  deliverance,  and  in  the  second  place, 
they  would  not  be  likely  to  pass  by  here  again. 
JUit  these  thoughts  wei-e  not  of  a  kind  that  ho 
chose  to  entertain.  He  was  in  no  mood  now  to 
sink  into  des])ondent  inaction.  lie  was  tired  of 
this  place,  and  was  anxious  to  leave  it.  He  was 
also  wearied  of  inaction,  and  was  eager  to  do 
something.  Far  better  did  it  seem  to  him  to  do 
anything,  and  go  anywhere,  even  if  he  should  bo 
unsuccessful,  than  to  remain  here  waiting  ibr  those 
who  nn"ght  never  come.  So  he  at  once  dismissed 
all    idle    thoughts   and    useless    regrets,  and    ad- 


t 


THE   MEAGRE    I5UEAKFAST. 


165 


dressed  liimsolf  to  the  task  of  {inanging  his  own 
course  of  action. 

He  saw  at  once  that  tlie  points  of  the  compass 
were  as  mucli  a  mystery  as  ever.  Tlic  first  glance 
upward  showed  him  tliat  tlie  sky  was  dai'ker  than 
ever,  tliat  its  covering  was  more  opaque,  that  the 
smoke  was  nearer  to  the  eartli.  The  air  also,  was 
close  and  oppressive.  Tlie  sun  was  not  visible, 
and  therefore  his  hope  failed  of  finding  some 
course  which  he  might  pursue  by  this  means. 
What,  then,  was  he  to  do? 

The  first  thing  that  he  decided  on  doing  was,  to 
take  his  Itreakiixst.  Now,  he  had  eaten  pretty 
freely  on  the  preceding  night,  and  therefore  it  was 
with  some  concern  that  he  opened  hi*s  basket  and 
examined  liis  stores.  That  concern  was  certainly 
not  at  all  lessened  when  he  found  that  he  had  only 
two  sandwiches  left. 

Two  sandwiches  1 

Rather  a  small  supply  of  provisions  for  one  who 
was  lost  in  the  midst  of  the  forest,  and  had  no  idea 
whatever  when  he  might  be  al)le  to  iind  his  way 
out.  Phil  would  not  allow  himself  to  feel  anxious 
about  this,  yet  at  the  same  time  he  was  prudent 
enough  to  look  out  for  the  future;  and  so,  though 
he  was  hungry,  and  felt  the  need  of  a  good  break- 
fast, yet  he  did  not  feel  inclincMl  to  devour  all 
of  his  slender  stock  at  that  one  meal.  FTe  chose 
rather  to  exercise  some  seifdenial  ;  and  so  Ik^  con- 
tented himself  with  only  one  sandwich,  and  put 
tlie  other  back,  reserving  it  for  a  time  of  need. 


166  FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 

He  now  felt  thirsty,  and  began  to  look  around 
for  water.  He  could  not  find  any  for  a  long  time. 
Meanwhile,  as  he  walked  about,  the  exertion  made 
him  much  more  sensitive  to  the  closeness  and  heat 
of  that  torrid  atmosphere,  and  so  aggravated  his 
thirst  that  it  begpn  to  torment  him  to  an  intolera- 
ble degree.  At  length,  to  his  great  joy,  he  founr'  a 
swampy  place  ;  and,  stoo])ing  down,  he  tore:  out  the 
moss  and  sods,  and  scooi)ed  up  the  black  mud  that 
was  underneath,  until  at  last  some  black,  discolored 
water  appeared.  He  took  a  few  mouthfuls  of  this 
without  hesitation,  and  then,  scooping  out  some 
more  mud,  he  waited  till  the  water  should  grow 
clearer.  The  particles  of  mud  alter  a  time  settled 
at  the  bottom,  and  the  water  became  clear  enough 
for  Phil  to  drink  it;  and  though  it  was  disagreeably 
warm,  it  yet  refreshed  him. 

He  now  resumed  his  course.  This  swamp  lay 
in  a  slight  hollow,  and  seemed  to  extend  for  some 
distance.  He  was  loath  to  leave  it,  for  the  re- 
membrance of  his  recent  suife rings  was  strong 
within  him;  and  so  he  walked  along  the  swami)y 
hollow.  To  his  surprise  it  extended  for  a  long 
distance,  and  to  his  great  gratification  tlie  mois- 
ture of  the  ground  increased,  until  at  length  the 
bog  became  moi-e  and  more  marshy,  and  pools  of 
standing  water  became  visible.  He  skirted  the 
edge  of  the  swamp,  still  walking  on,  and  at  length 
reached  a  place  where  a  small  brook  flowed  on 
out  of  this  swamp  into  the  woods.     Along  this  he 


DISMAL  SURROUNDINGS. 


W 


walked  for  a  little  distance,  and  then  took  another 
draught  of  the  water,  wliich  lie  now  ft)und  quite 
pure,  and  not  so  warm  as  to  be  unpleasant.  Much 
refreshed,  he  sat  down  by  its  edge,  and  unce  more 
began  to  dehberate  about  the  best  course  that  ho 
could  take. 

He  did  not  like  the  state  of  things  altogether. 
It  was  bad  enough  to  be  lost  in  the  forest;  but 
there  were  other  tilings  su])eradded  which  made 
his  situation  far  worse.  For  he  now  felt  the  op- 
pressiveness of  the  air  most  painlully,  and  the  ex- 
ertion of  walking  was  far  more  exhaustive  than  he 
had  ever  known  it  before.  Besides,  the  atmos- 
phere had  a  smoky  character,  which  was  distress- 
ing, and  the  thick  smoke  clouds  overhead  showed 
that  something  was  going  on  in  these  woods  that 
might  ere  long  make  his  situation  much  worse. 
There  was,  indeed,  something  ominous  in  that 
sickly,  leaden  sky,  in  those  rolling  smoke  clouds 
that  hung  so  low,  in  this  suffocating  air  which  he 
could  not  breathe  with  comi'ort,  —  something  omi- 
nous in  the  o[)pressive  heat,  an<l  in  the  stagnation 
of  the  atmosphere.  There  was,  however,  a  breeze  ; 
its  signs  were  visible  overhead,  but  the  woods 
were  so  dense  that  he  could  not  gain  any  benefit 
from  it.  What  the  meaning  of  it  all  might  be,  he 
could  easily  conjecture;  but  the  thought  was  too 
foimidal)le  to  be  entertained,  and  so  he  tried  to 
dismiss  it  from  his  mind. 

And  now,  while  he  thought  of  what  he  ought  to 


168 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


do,  a  plan  of  action  suggested  itself  which  was  so 
simple,  so  feasible,  and  so  full  of  promise,  that  he 
at  once  caught  at  it  and  proceeded  to  act  upon  it. 
This  plan  was  nothing  else  than  to  follow  the 
course  of  the  brook.  It  would  of  course  enlarge 
as  it  ran  on.  It  might  lead  into  a  larger  stream, 
and  that  stream  would  be  suie  to  bring  him  out 
somewhere.  Besides,  to  be  near  a  stream  would 
be  of  great  advantage  in  many  ways.  It  would  be 
more  open,  and  lighter,  and  more  airy  tiian  the 
thick  recesses  of  the  forest ;  its  bed  would  offer 
a  comparatively  easy  footpath,  except  where  it 
might  become  too  strong  or  swampy;  and  he 
would  always  be  in  tlie  neighborhood  of  water. 

On  this  idea  he  proceeded  at  once  to  act,  and  so 
resumed  his  journey,  walking  in  the  bed  of  the 
little  brook.  The  bottom  aiforded  an  easy  path ; 
and  though  the  water  was  over  his  ankles,  yet  it^ 
coolness  was  refreshing,  and  served  to  alleviate 
very  materially  the  ell'ccts  of  the  sultry  atmos- 
phere. 

But  on  resinning  his  course,  Phil  saw  that  if  he 
hoped  to  make  any  real  progress,  he  must  divest 
himself  of  all  useless  encumbrances.  His  basket 
and  his  lishing-rod  were  of  this  description.  He 
therefore  sacrificed  both  of  them  to  the  necessities 
of  the  occasion ;  but  before  lie  threw  them  down, 
he  removed  the  hook  and  line  from  the  rod,  so  as 
to  have  it  in  case  of  need.  And  now,  as  he  went 
on,  he  felt  the  benefit  of  this  disencurabrance ;  for 


THE   BROOK.  Ifif^ 

the  weight  and  inconvenience  of  those  had  been 
excessively  troublesome  all  along.  Yet  the  line 
and  hook  were  the  only  essential  part  of  the  rod, 
and  the  sandwich  was  the  only  necessary  part  of 
the  basket ;  and  these  things  were  carried  far  more 
conveniently  in  his  pocket. 

The  brook  flowed  on,  and  gradually  increased  in 
volume  by  the  occasional  addition  of  other  brook- 
lets, which  joined  it  in  its  course.     The    channel 
grew   broader,   and  the  waters   grew  more  abun- 
dant,    sometimes  spreading  themselves  out   wide 
over  a  pebbly  bottom,  atotlier  times  collecting  into 
deep  pools,  which   Phil  preferred   avoiding.      In 
spite  of  the   irregularities  and   inequalities  of  its 
course,  Phil  preferred  walking  here  to  wandering 
at  random  through  the  woods  ;  in  the  first  placc^ 
on  account  of  the  reasons  above  mentioned;  and 
in  the  second  place,   for  tlie  reason  that  it  led  to 
some  definite   point,  and  would   not  allow   him  to 
wander  al»out  blindly  in  a  circle.     The  hopeless 
bewilderment  which  had  resulted  from  his  forest 
wanderings  on  the  previous  day,  made  his  present 
course    seem   quite  certain  and  definite   in    com- 
parison. 

At  last,  to  Phil's  great  delight,  the  brook  joined 
another  brook,  which  was  fully  twice  as  larn:e, 
though  not  as  large  as  that  stream  where  he  liad 
been  fishing.  A  vague  hope  had  arisen  in  liis 
mind  that  this  brook  might  lead  him  to  that  very 
stream,  in   which    case    he    counted    confidently 


^'^^  FIRE   IN    THE    WOODS. 

on  finding  his  frion.ls;  1)ut   n..w    ho    Jmd   walked 
80  flir  that  lio  giivo  up  tliis  hoj.o  altogother,  and 
had  mado  up  his  mind  to  scdc  his  ..\vn  sarcty   irre- 
spective of  his  friends.     The  new  hroek  was  qnite 
as   easy  as   the  ohl  „ne ;  in   inn,  it  was  somewlmt 
more   so,   for   it  was   less    invgular,  and  presented 
fewer  nieqnalities  of  depths.     Over  its  Led,  then, 
rinl  trudged   on,  sometimes    stopj.inu"  to  dash  wu' 
ter  over  his  face  and  head,  at   other  times  thrust- 
ing m  his  liands,  and  occasionally  bending  down  to 
take   a    drink.     ^J^he    i)rcsence    of  the   hrook   thus 
proved   of  the   greatest  advantage  to  him,  and  its 
cool   waters  })revented   him  from    finding  that  ex- 
Imustion   under  which    he    might   otherwise   have  ) 

sunk  utterly.  In  the  hroa.h^r  pathway  that  this 
brook  afforded,  he  had  also  the  eliancj  of  gaining 
advantage  of  any  slight  breeze  or  movement  of 
the  air  that  might  take  place;  an.l  thus  in  every 
way  he  w\as  a  gainer. 

At  length  he  came  to  another  brook,  into  which 
this  one  disJiarged  itself  The  new  brook  was 
very  much  larger;  and  though  not  quite  so  large 
as  the  stream  where  they  had  been  fishing,  still  it 
was  not  much  smaller.  At  first  the  only  thouo-ht 
that  came  to  Phil  was,  that  he  had  come  back  to 
this  very  stream  itself  from  whieh  he  had  started  : 
but  soon,  as  he  came  to  refiect  u])on  the  length  of 
his  wanderings,  an<l  upon  the  probabilitv  that 
many  streams  ran  through  the  forest,  he  gave  up 
this  idea,  and  contented  himself  with  following  out 


/ 

}■ 


ENCOURAGING    DISCOVERY.  171 

the  plan  tliat  he  had  adopted.  This  stream  he 
thought  might  lead  to  some  larger  one,  and  that 
larger  one  to  some  river,  which  might  eventually 
bring  him  to  the  habitations  of  man. 

The  fresh  hopes  that  were  now  aroused  within 
him  lessened  his  fatigue,  and  stimulated  hijii  to 
new  efforts.  The  bed  of  this  stream  was  shallow 
and  pebbly,  sometimes  deepening  into  pools,  at 
other  times  bringing  him  into  the  midst  of  swanips, 
and  grasses,  and  rushes;  but,  on  the  whojo,  it  was 
no  more  difficult  than  its  predecessor  had  been; 
and  his  progress  was  very  satisfactory. 

At  length  he  came  to  a  place  where  he  saw 
something  that  sent  a  thrill  of  joy  through  his 
whole  being.  ,  , 

It  was  a  path  ! 

It  was  an  unmistakable  path,  narrow  and  rough 
It  IS  true,  yet  still  a  path.  It  seemed  like  onc^Of' 
those  roads  which  are  used  in  winter  to  draw  logs 
out  of  the  woods,  or  fuel ;  yet  whatever  its  pur- 
pose might  be,  there  it  was  ;  and  here  at  last  Phil 
saw  something  that  proved  that  he  was  u..t  cut  olT 
altogether  from  all  association  with  human  kiud 
Ihat  path  seemed  to  promise  escape,  and  seemed 
to  lead  him  forth  from  the  wilderness  track  to  life 
and  liberty. 

He  stood  and  looked  at  it  long  and  cai-efully.  It 
ran  across  the  brook,  and  on  either  side  it  pre- 
sented  the  same  ai>pearance.  The  questien  that 
now  arose   in  his  mind  was,  which  side  should  ho 


172  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

cliooso  —  the  right  or  the  left  ?  There  was  notliing 
in  tlie  path  that  helped  him  to  a  decision ;  no 
footmarks  were  visible  to  show  him  where  to  go; 
he  was  left  altogether  to  chance  and  to  his  own 
instincts. 

At  length  he  decided  to  take  the  path  on  the 
right  hand  side,  and  accordingly  he  at  once  went 
on  in  this  direction.  The  path  was  about  six  feet 
wide,  and  was  comparatively  smooth;  so  smooth, 
indeed,  that  it  seemed  almost  hixnrions  when  c(  m- 
j)ared  with  the  irregularities  of  the  brook,  with  its 
alternations  of  gravel  and  swamp,  which  was  also 
deep  in  water.  Here,  then,  Phil  walked  along 
rapidly,  and  was  so  lull  of  hope  that  at  every  turn 
in  the  path  he  expected  to  see  some  house. 

The  ])ath,  as  has  been  said,  seemed  like  one  of 
those  which  are  used  in  the  winter  only  for  lumber- 
ing purposes.  At  the  })resent  time  it  bore  no 
marks  whatever  of  recent  use.  No  traces  of  wIk^cIs 
were  visible,  no  footprints  of  any  kind;  yet  it  was 
level,  Ibr  the  ordinaiy  irregularities  seemed  to 
have  been  smoothed  away  by  the  attrition  of  logs 
which  had  been  hauled  over  it. 

Phil  walke(l  on  for  several  hours.  Ho  was  very 
nnich  fatigued;  but  tiie  new  excitement  that  had 
arisen  consequent  upon  this,  discovery  had  pre- 
vented him  from  giving  way  to  his  weariness,  and 
had,  in  I'act,  roused  him  above  it  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  was  unconscious  of  it.  His  expectation  of 
meeting  with  some    signs  of  humanity  clung  to 


ASTRAY    ONX'E   MORE. 


n.i 


him  iiH'essantly  as  lie  walked  along;  and  tliouuh 
lio  was  constantly  disa])p()inti'(l,  yet  lie  ronstiuitly 
hu})ud,  and  })ersistt'd  in  tliu  hope,  in  spite  of  dis- 
a|)pointinents. 

At  length,  it  began  to  grow  darker,  and  he  siiw 
that  evening  was  coming  on.  lie  had  been  walk- 
ing incessantly,  with  but  one  short  rest,  ever  since 
eleven  o'clock.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  he 
could  not  have  maintained  such  a  prolonged  oirort ; 
and  had  he  not  met  with  this  })ath  he  would  have 
sought  rest  long  before  this.  But  his  intense 
desire  to  escape,  which  had  been  stimulated  by 
this  discovery  of  the  path,  drew  him  on.  and  nerved 
liim  to  new  efforts.  At  the  end  of  each  hour  he 
still  hoped  that  the  next  hour  would  bring  some- 
thing ;  and  so  he  kept  on  even  after  the  darkness 
began  to  deepen.  Now,  as  the  darkness  increased, 
the  path  grew  loss  and  less  perceptible,  and  at  last 
lie  happened  to  get  out  of  it  at  a  place  where 
there  was  a  wide  o])ening  in  the  woods.  Leaving 
it  here,  he  wandered  al)out  until  he  discovered 
that  he  had  lost  it  altogether.  On  making  this 
discovery,  he  made  no  effort  either  to  retrace  his 
steps,  or  to  find  out  the  lost  path.  He  was  too 
much  worn  out  to  think  of  doing  either.  He 
simply  gave  up. 

A  moss-covered  mound  was  close  beside  him; 
and  taking  a  seat  here,  he  determined  to  remain 
for  the  night,  and  leave  all  further  effort  for  the 
following   day.     He   was   fearfully    fatigued,   and 


174 


FIRE    IN   TFJE   WOODS. 


uttcily  Avoni  out.  AVIkmi  Ik;  jravo  up  lie  gave  up 
(•ouiplclcly.  His  (.lily  tlioun'lit  now  was  for  lii^ 
iinnuMlijif(^  wants,  ;iii(I  tliosi;  wants  comprised  tlio 
two  (.sscnlials  of  HmhI  and  ivst.  Kest  lie  could 
lind  here,  on  tiic  mossy  hiouikI.  uikIlm-  tlio  forest 
trees.  As  to  food,  thanks  to  jiis  loretliouo-lit  and 
sellldeiiial  in  liio  morning,  somethinu-  yet  remained. 
It  was  thai  sandwich  Avhich  lie  had  reserved  ibr  a 
time  of  need.  'I'h(^  time  of  need  had  come,  and  he 
drew  the  saiidwicli  from  liis  jxick'et. 

JIo  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  solemnly  and 
thoughl  fully.  It  was  his  last  sandwich  —  the  very 
last  of  his  little  stock  of  provisions.  Should  he 
eat  it  all,  or  should  he  still  ])reserve  a  little  of  it? 
It  seemed  unwise  to  eat  it  all.  He  broke  it  into 
two  portions,  and  wrap])iiig  one  up  carefully,  he 
})roceeded  to  eat  the  other.  But  on  eating  tliis  iie 
found  his  appetite  una])peased,  ami  his  craving  for 
more  was  irresistible.  lie  unwra])ped  what  he 
had  reserved  and  looked  at  it.  Should  he  eat  it? 
I)ar(!  he  eat  it?  To  eat  it  would  be  to  dojirive 
himself  of  his  last  mouthful,  and  on  the  following 
morning  he  would  have  nothing  with  which  to 
begin   the  day. 

He  looked  at  that  small  fragment  of  food  with 
longing  eyes,  an<l  the  longer  ho  looked  at  it  the 
more  tempting  did  it  seem,  and  the  more  irresistible 
(lid  the  temptation  grow.  At  last  he  thought  that 
It  would  be  better  to  strengthen  himself  now  after 
his  long  journey,  and  secure  a  good  night's  rest. 


Tin;    Lasi    Samiwkm.      I'aijie  174. 


I 


' 


t 


TflK    LAST    SANDWK  IF. 


11  ri 


On  t}»o  morrow  ho  oonhl  look  out  for  food  ;uh1  <rot 
HoiiioMiiri^Moojit  —  H(»rrMMAiicr(',  lie  krx'W  not  wlicrc; 
—  soiniihow,  li(^  knew  not  liow.  This  thon^^ht 
af)|)(!iis(M|  his  cautious  sciiifdcs.  No  licsirjitcd  no 
lon^^(!r,  hut  i»t(!  wliMt  niniaincf)  of  the  s;in<l\vi(|i. 

And  HO  his  jjist  particdt;  of  lood  was  pin(!. 

Jint  h(;  ^r;tv(!  no  thoiiu-lil  to  this.  If.,  was  too 
tirod,  iind  worn  out  with  uxlmustion  lie  lay  dowu 
unci  lull  asluup. 


17G 


FIRE   IN    THE   WOODS. 


XIII. 

Clouds   and    Vopors.  —  77/^'    rxlrmsflve    Ilejit.  — 
Thirst.  —Ma<l<lii  Watvr.  —  The.  PatKjsof  J/anfjer. 

—  /lou)  to  fish.  —  The  nicer.  —  The  placid  Lidcr. 

—  //  P/uin/c.  info  the  IVtdcr. —  The  Midday  Mail. 

—  The,   I'iiH'     JToods.  —  The    rovkj/    (Juvvrii. — 
PrcpariiHj  a  A'i(/hf's  Jlcst.  —  77/c  L'ucnini/  Jli/just. 

—  Niijld  once  /nore. 

^^k  \  wakiiii;-  llic  next  in(>riiiii,<:',  I'liil's  (irst  iiii- 
iLlw  |»"'^<'  ^^'"^  •"  ''"'l^  ;ilt<t\('  and  around  to  sec 
^^  what  nii|i,lit  Im'  liic  jnospc  N  for  tin-  day. 
M'o  ,i!s  disa|t|ioinlnM'Ml  lie  lonnd  those  prospects 
not  at  all  elian;^('i|  for  llie  lietter.  Oveilieaij  lie 
saw  tli(!  I'ollin^j,'  smoke  clouds,  \vlii(di  now  wer(! 
}:,looinief  and  denser  than  In  lore,  and  still  nearer 
tlic!  earth.  The  atiiosphere  canu'ht  I'roni  tliein  a, 
very  perceptiltle  odoi,  \vlii<'li  showed  the  character 
ol'  tlu!  (douds  ahove,  and  was  pun^Jicnt  enon}j,h  to 
create  some  de;^ree  of  irritation  in  the  nose  and 
throat.  The  spot  where  he  was  appeared  to  he 
somewhat  inoriMtpen  than  usual,  and  in  some  direc- 
tions he  could  lotik  o\er  a  space  se\eral  rods  in 
extent.  In  this  direction  thesniokt!  !ia/e  was  very 
u[)par(Mit. 


]* 


EXCESSIVE   TFIIIfST. 


177 


IIo  felt  l)()tli  liuiiirry  mikI  tliiistv.  I>ut  Ik;  had 
notliiii^  wliiiti!V(jr  to  eat,  uiid  kii(!\v  it.  Ilr  IijkI 
euten  his  lust  moiithrul  tlic  cvciiiii^'  hdurc,  and 
tlicrc  was  nothing  whutcvcr  h  It  now  to  satisiytho 
(Iciriaiids  of  his  appetito.  IJiil  lor  the  picsciit,  his 
thirst  was  stronger  than  his  hiiii}:;*!!"  ;  aixl  so 
})!irch(Ml  was  his  throat,  aii<l  so  )>aiiiriil  was  his 
craving  for  water,  that  ho  at  oni'c  startcfl  up,  uiitl 
sot  out  in  search  of  sonio. 

Ilis  ()l)j(M;t  was  now  to  rc^uin  tliat  path  which  he 
had  lost  tho  ni^ht  hci'ori;,  and  follow  it  until  ho 
mij^ht  find  anotlusr  hrook,  or  at  least  a  swamp. 
Hut  thou;j;h  ho  sought  most  dilij^ciiitly,  and  most 
thoroughly,  in  all  directions,  still  he  could  iind 
no  trace;  ol"  it  whati^vor.  IJitter  (!.\perienc»;  had 
already  tau}^ht  him  his  own  utter  inca|>aliilit y  of 
tindin^'  his  way  hack  throu;j,h  tla^so  wooils  to  any 
point  from  which  he  mi;2^^lil  have  wandereil,  and  so 
h(!  soon  ji;av(^  up  this  s(;arch  as  useless;  hut  in  ad- 
dition to  this,  his  thirst  was  alto};('lh(;r  too  pressing 
to  allow  of  any  H('ar(di  after  lost  paths.  'I'Ik;  one 
thiiijj;:  of  his  desire  hecame  water,  and  so  lie  turned 
his  attention  towards  lin(lin;;'  this  lirst  necessity. 
lie  did  not  have  tn  undergo  a  wry  loni?  trial. 
Tho  woods  were  intersected  in  many  |»laces  l»y 
small  hrooklets,  and  hidore  lonjj,'  he  came  to  a  l>o^, 
in  which  ho  ohtained  sullicieiit  water  to  allay  his 
thirst.  By  carefully  examirnn!'-  this,  he  found  a 
placo  which  was  the  outlet  of  a  hrook,  and  ho 
now  pursuod  th(3  samo  courno  which  had  hooii 
12 


178  FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 

followed  hy  liiiii  the  day  Ixd'oro  ;  that  is,  lio 
walked  Jilon,!:;  in  (Im!  Ix^d  of  tlio  brook,  hoping  that 
it  would  lead  to  a  stream. 

As  he  walked  along  it  gnnv  larger  and  hirger  ; 
other  brooks  joined  it;  and  at  length  it  ran  into  a 
stream  which  was  quite  as  large  as  that  one  from 
which  he  had  originally  waiiderefl.  On  reaching 
this  he  Silt  down  on  the  bank  and  rested.  The 
si  ream  was  about  a  dozen  yai'ds  wide  hero, 
and  tiie  waters  were  shallow,  rumiing  on  among 
graved  and  cobble  stones.  The  banks  wcmh;  bor- 
dered with  trees,  which  rose  to  the  height  of  about 
I'orty  feet,  and  threw  their  branches  across  the 
stream  till  they  nearly  met. 

Sitting  here  and  resting,  Phil  began  to  feel 
more  hungry  than  ever.  Jlis  walk  had  only 
served  to  sharpen  his  ai)petite,  and  tho  alleviation 
of  his  thirst  had  brought  out  his  hunger  more 
prominently.  And  now  what  could  ho  do?  To 
struggles  forward  all  day  without  anything  to  eat 
would  be  almost  impossible.  Already  he  i'elt  ex- 
liausted  Irom  his  walk  thus  liir  without  Ibod  ;  and 
to  commenc(^  again  seemed  out  of  tho  question. 
In  his  hunger  he  now  tiieil  to  find  something  in 
th(^  woods.  JI(^  t()r(!  up  some  grass,  and  chewed 
tlu!  roots ;  he  peeled  off  some  ma[»l(^  bark,  and 
tried  to  chew  this;  l)ut  the  grass  roots  and  tho 
maple  bark  had  no  perce[)tible  etfect  in  <liminish- 
ing  his  hunger.  At  last  he  thought  of  his  fishing- 
line,  which  he  had  carried  with  him  utter  throwing 


1 


SUCCKSSFUL    FISIIIN*;. 


17f) 


away  the  rod.  Womlcrin^  why  he  liad  l)(>oii  so 
stupid  as  not  to  think  of  tin's  Ixdorc,  hi'  pi'occiMh-d 
to  search  l()r  a  snitahh'  rod.  This  he  Inund  jd'tcr 
a  short  time,  and  attachinn'  tlic  line  to  the  end  ol' 
it,  ho  jn-occiMh'd  to  try  his  skill  at  lishinj:-.  lie 
walked  down  the  sti'cani  for  sonic  distance,  hnt  lor 
some  time  In;  met  with  no  sncccss.  He  he^^an  io 
feid  a  little  alarm,  and  to  think  that  the  heat  and 
the  smoki^  pn-veiited  the  fish  from  rising-,  when 
suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  his  disconraurnient,  In; 
felt  a  nihhie  at  the  hook.  IIo  jeiked  it  nj>,  hut 
mlssL'd  his  prey  that  time  ;  still  the  ciicnmstance 
encoura^-e(l  him  |rreatly,  joi'  it  showed  him  that 
thei'o  was  hope,  and  he  continiU'il  his  task  with 
fresh  spirit.  At  IcnLith,  to  his  intense  delight,  ho 
jerked  out  a  fish.  It  was  (piile  small,  hut  still  it 
was  indcscrihahly  weh'ome  :  and  without  waiting 
any  longer,  I'liil  at  once  proceeded  to  kindle  a  lire. 
He  did  this  with  little  diflicnily.  and  placing-  the  fish 
on  the  hla/,in^'  sticks,  he  watcheil  it  unlil  it  seemed 
suHiciently  cookcfl  to  he  eaten.  Allhouiih  his 
hun^'cr  had  made  him  too  im|>atient  to  wait  till  the 
lish  was  tli(tnm};-|ily  c(toked,  yet  that  same  hunj^'or 
made  him  in<lil1erent  to  little  deficieneies  ol"  this 
sort,  and  the  half-raw  ti'out  s<'cmed  to  him.  without 
excojjtion,  the  most  delicious  mtu-sel  that  he  had 
over  eaten.  He  now  I'csniued  his  rod,  and  hejoi'e 
lon^"  hauled  out  anothci",  which  was  soon  followed 
hy  niKtther,  and  yet  another.  \\\  this  time  the  fire 
had  (lied  down  to  the  coals,  and  on  tlie-e  IMiil   laid 


i 


180 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


his  fish.  Tliis  tiino  ho  waited  until  thoy  were  so 
thoroughly  cooked  that  they  would  have  satisfied 
the  most  fastidious  appetite.  Ou  tliese  Phil  made 
a  right  royal  re])asi;  nud  this  su[)i)ly  of  food 
seemed  to  him  to  he  sullicicnt  for  any  eft'ort  that 
he  might  have  to  make  that  day.  Before  starting, 
however,  he  was  provident  enough  to  wait  until 
he  had  caught  three  more  trout,  so  as  to  secure 
himself  from  again  coming  so  close  to  ahsolute 
starvation  as  he  had  been  that  morning;  and  then, 
putting  these  in  liis  pocket,  he  rolled  up  very  care- 
fully his  precious  hook  and  line,  and  once  nu)re 
resumed  his  journey. 

lie  had  thus  been  able  to  satisfy  both  that  thirst 
and  that  hunger  which  had  each  assailed  him  so 
fiercely  on  his  iirst  awaking;  and  this  fact  gave 
to  him  a  glow  of  satisfaction,  and  a  confidence  in 
his  own  resources,  which  dispelled  the  last  vestige 
of  his  gloom,  and  iilled  him  with  energy,  and  hope, 
and  cheerfulness.  In  this  frame  of  mind  he  set  out 
on  the  renewal  of  his  journey,  not  knowing  any 
better  than  before  where  he  was  going,  yet  hoping 
for  the  best. 

The  brook  ran  on  for  some  miles,  receiving  other 
brooks,  and  growing  gradually  larger.  As  a  gen- 
eral thing,  its  bed  allbnled  a  sullicicntly  easy  path- 
way ibr  I'hil  b)  traverse,  without  any  unusual  ex- 
«rtion,  and  was  prcl'crable,  on  the  whole,  to  the 
forest  with  its  underbrush.  Occasionally,  however, 
rie  was  able   to  take  advantage  of  ILivorable  open- 


cr 


THE   RIVER.  ISl 

»np:s  amonp:  the  trees,  and  on  several  occasions 
gained  very  much  1>y  taking'  short  cuts,  Miid  av,.i.l- 
ing  certain  hends  in  the  river.  On  such  sh(,rt 
cuts  it  is  needless  to  say  that  he  never  ventured, 
unless  he  was  ahle  to  see  ])laiiily  wJ,ore  lie  was' 
going.  In  this  way  he  went  on  "iur  some  hours, 
and  in  that  time  he  certaiidy  succeeded  in  gettin  ' 
over  a  large  extent  of  ground. 

But    such   exertions   as    these   were    not  made 
easily;  and  soon  the    energy  with  which  he  had 
started  began  to  relax.    Uv  I.ecame  more  sensitive 
to  the  heat,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  the  smoke 
was  growing  more    dense  and   more    distressing. 
He  began  to  think  that  he  must  be  drawing  nearer 
to  the  fires  from  which  all  this  smoke  and  this  op. 
pressive  heat  arose.     The  thought  was  a  most  dis- 
hearteiu'ng  one  ;  for  if  it  were  true,  it  would  trans- 
form  what  seemed  to  be  his  pathway  to  safety  into 
}i  blind   rush  to  danger,   and  make  of  no  avail  all 
his  long  struggles  that  he  had  put  forth  so  perse- 
veringiy.    It  was  a  thouglit,  indeed,  which  was  too 
'h'i»rossing  for   him  to  entertain,  and  so  he  strove 
to  drive  it  from  his  mind  :  but  it  was  one  of  those 
unpleasant  ideas  which   cling  to  the  mind  in  si)ite 
of  itself,  and  so,  notwithstanding  Phil's  ,.|rorts  to 
hope  for  the  best,  there  lowered  over  him  a  very 
dark  and  dismal  foreboding  that  his  present  course 
would  at  length  bring  him  face  to  face  with  the 
fire. 

And  what  then  ? 


182 


FIRK    IN   TFIK   WOODS. 


All,  tliat  lio  could  not  toll.  * 

Should  lie  turn  l>ack  now?  No;  tliat  was  a 
tliinn-  which  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of.  Whcr- 
ever  he  was  <;()in^-,  he  could  not  turn  hack  yet  — 
not  till  he  was  convinced  that  it  was  all  wronj^ 
—  not  till  the  very  presence  of  the  fire  itself 
should  I'orce  him  to  o-ive  up  all  hope  of  farther 
progress  in  this  direction. 

In  spite  of  his  surroundings  of  oppressive  heat 
and  distressing  smoke,  of  rough  pathways  and  al- 
ternating wood  and  water,  —  in  spite  of  his  fatigue 
of  hody,  and  despondency  of  mind, —  Phil  still 
kept  on  his  course,  and  stiuggled  most  Iieroically 
to  maintain  his  onward  march,  wheiever  it  might 
lead.  At  length  he  reached  a  ])lace  where  the 
sti-enm  ran  in  almost  a  straight  line  for  a  consider- 
able distance  ;  iiud  looking  down  this,  he  could  see 
at  the  farthest  extiemity  the  smoky  haze;  but 
at  the  same  time  he  felt  confident  that  it  was  not 
a  whit  dens(M'  than  it  had  been  in  the  morning. 
This  discovery  encouraged  him  ;  and  now,  ii'  he 
felt  the  smoke  and  the  heat  more  keenly,  he  was 
able,  with  great  ;i])parent  reason,  to  attribute  it 
solely  to  his  own  wenriness  of  body. 

"  1  will  rest  soon,"  he  thought.  "1  will  take  a 
long  rest,  and  get  something  to  eat,  and  that  will 
be  sure  to  restore  m(\" 

With  this  thought  he  went  on  :  and  though  he 
bad  made  up  his  mind  to  rest,  yet  he  kept  con^ 
stantly  postponing    the    period   of  that  rest.     At 


TIIK    PLACII)    LAKE. 


183 


lono-t],  tlio  stream  took  a  turn  round  n  woodvd  ,],> 
clivity,  and  as  Phil  went  up  tin's  lo  cut  across,  l.o 
suddenly  helield  lyino-  in.nuMliatcIy  In  rnrntoliiim 
a  small  lake,  into  wjiidi  tiie  stream  ran. 

The  sight   of  this  at  onco  decided  him  to  make 
this    wooded    declivity    his    resting-place.     So    ho 
took    his   seat  here  on   the  shore,  and  looke.l  „ut 
upon  the   scene   helore   him.     The  h.ke  was  of  no 
very  great  extent,  and  was  surround.-d  ,,n  all  sides 
by  trees.     In  front  of  Phil  the  head,  was  pd.hlv, 
inid   the  waters  clear  and  transparent  :   hut  on  the' 
right  there  was  a  wide  extent  covered  over  with 
green   rushes,  and    water   lilies,   hoth   velh.w  and 
white.     As    Phil  l,„)ked  fortii  upon   this  pleasant 
scene,  the  waters  seemed  so  inviting  *and  so  clear, 
that  he  determined    to  take  a  hatli.       X,,  sooner 
had    he  thought  of  this   than   he   was   ,.„  his   f,.,>t 
figain,  ami  in  a  very  short  tim(>  had  divested  him- 
self  of  his  clothes  and  ])lnnged  in. 

He  plunged  down  into  those  sweet,  clear,  tran- 
quil waters.  As  his  h(>ad  sank  under  th.>  cMuhrace 
of  the  cool  flood,  it  seemed  to  convov  new  life  and 
strength  to  every  fibre  of  his  weari.Ml  frame.  It 
was  (me  delicious  moment  in  a  day  of  toil  and 
trouble.  He  struck  out  and  swam  fi'r  off  into  tho 
middle  of  the  lake.  Then  he  divrd  again  an.l 
agam;  and  then,  rolling  over  on  his  ba.-k,  he  lay 
floating,  with  his  ey.'s  eh.sed,  and  his  Inn.i  n-pos- 
iiig  luxuriously  upon  its  soft,  walcMv  con.-h.  The 
water  here  was  suiliciently  dear  and  sulliciently 


184 


KIIIK   1\    THE   WOODS. 


(loop  lor  Ilis  purpot^os,  the  ruslios  and  lilies  were 
over  uj)on  the  shore  on  one  ssidc,  and  there  was 
notliin^-  to  mar  his  enjoyment.  Here  he  forgot  the 
lieat  and  the  snnjke.  The  eool  waters  took  away 
from  him  all  that  sense  of  oppression  which  he  had 
so  long  I'elt,  and  when  he  at  length  landed,  it  was 
as  though  he  had  enjoyed  some  prolonged  rest  for 
hours,  oi'  some  profound  and  refreshing  slumber. 

Now  ho  resumed  his  clothes,  and  thought  of 
those  lish  which  ho  had  been  cai-rying.  On  ex- 
amining them,  he  found  them  slightly  stale,  yet 
not  at  all  crushed,  and  theieupon  he  proceeded 
to  kindle  a  fire  upon  the  shore  of  the  lake.  Thus 
far  he  had  Ibund  no  diflieulty  in  making  his  fires, 
lor  he  had  matches  with  him,  and  there  was  no 
lack  of  dry  twigs;  so,  in  a  shoi't  time,  a  fire  sufii- 
cient  lor  his  ])urposes  was  1  dazing  merrily.  Phil 
was  in  no  hurry;  so,  lying  down  near  it,  and  lean- 
ing on  one  elbow,  he  watched  it  lazily,  imtil  sufli- 
cient  coals  had  been  formed,  upon  which  he  might 
hiy  his  iish. 

I'he  lish  this  time  were  oven  superior  to  what 
they  had  been  on  a  former  occasion,  for  Phil's  prac- 
tice liad  shown  him,  to  some  extent,  how  they 
could  be  bioiled  to  the  best  advantage.  All  that 
they  needed  was  ji  little  salt  and  ])epper;  but  he 
was  too  hungry  to  miss  either  of  those  seasonings. 
He  found,  indeed,  in  iiis  case,  the  truth  of  the  old 
saying,  that  hunger  is  the  best  relish  ;  and  never 
in  his  life   had  he   eaten  any  meal  with  half  the 


THK   PIXH   WOODS.  18^ 


0 


:^est  that  he  luid  known  al  tlic  eventful  meals  of 
this  eventful  day.  A  drau.ulit  of  water  from  the 
running  stream  completed  his  repast,  and  ho  now 
lay  down  refreshed,  and  began  to  meditate  over 
his  journey.  He  had  now  rested  i'ov  nearly  two 
hours,  and  ho  began  to  feel  like  resuming  his 
march.  It  would  be  necessary,  he  saw,  to  walk 
around  the  lake  till  he  found  its  outlet,  and  then 
go  along  as  beibre,  and  keep  on  as  long  as  his 
strength  might  hold  out. 

Once  more,  then,  he  rose  strong,  eager,  resolute, 
and   cheerful,  hoping  for  the  best,  and  willing  to 
go  on   in  this  course  until  he  reached  some  desti- 
nation, wherever  that  might  be.    ITi^  walked  along 
the  lake  shore,  and  on  reaching  the  Other  end,  he 
found  the  ontlet.     This  was  nothing  more  than  a 
continuation  of  the  stream   down  which   he   had 
been   going,   but   there  was    more   water,   for  the 
lake   probably  received  other   contributions;  and 
what  was  more  important,  the  bottom  was  muddy. 
Fortunately,  however,  the  woods   here  were   free 
from  underbrush,   so  that  he   ha<l   no  diflieulty  in 
walking    through    them,    keeping    the    streani    in 
sight.     After  going  about  a  mile  or  so,  he  found, 
to  his  great  delight,  that  he  had  come  to  a  pine 
forest.     To  him,  after  his  long,  rough  walk,  this 
fact  gave  the  greatest  possil)le  joy.     For  now  the 
trees  rose  up  around  him  at  wide  intervals,  and  no 
tangled  underbrush  stood  in  his  way,  forcing  him 
to  wind  through  them  or  lose  himself  in  the  at- 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0   ;!:■-  H- 


I.I 


1.25 


u.  Hi 

M'       |40 


2.2 


12.0 


1.8 


1.4    1111 1.6 


VI 


^ 


/a 


% 


/, 


9j>'/ 


7 


M 


Q- 


1f 


18G 


FIRE  IN  THE  WOODS. 


tempt  to  go  around  it.  Tlie  pine  forest  allowed 
liim  to  cliooso  bis  own  course  and  walk  almost  as 
freely  as  though  he  were  in  an  open  field.  Besides, 
the  ground  under  his  feet  gave  a  firm  foothold. 
It  was  not  like  the  soft  moss  or  long  ferns  of  the 
other  woods ;  it  was  not  like  the  pebbly  bed  of  the 
^•itream  ;  it  was  hard,  and  smooth,  and  afforded  an 
easy  patlnvay. 

As  Phil  went  on,  he  noticed  that  the  stream  grew 
much  wid(M',  though  it  still  remained  shallow.  Its 
waters  flowed  sometimes  in  the  middle  of  the  bed, 
sometimes  on  the  right  bank,  and  sometimes  towards 
the  lei't ;  while  again  they  distributed  themselves 
over  the  whole  of  its  wide  bed,  and  brawled,  and 
gui'gled,  and  bubbled  onward  among  the  stones 
and  pel)l)les  with  which  its  bed  was  again  filled. 
At  one  place  its  channel  divided,  and  a  little  island 
covered  with  trees  arose  in  the  midst,  while  the 
waters,  after  flowing  past  in  two  streams,  once  more 
reunited.  About  a  half  mile  below  this  another 
stream  joined  it,  and  the  waters  were  very  con- 
siderably increased. 

Phil  walked  along  for  several  hours,  and  at 
length  began  to  feel  once  more  that  excessive 
weariness  which  he  had  felt  before  bathing  in  the 
lake.  Once  more  the  atmosphere  grew  exceeding- 
ly opi)r(!ssiv(>,  and  the  smoke  distressed  him.  At 
length  he  came  to  a  ledge  of  rocks,  by  the  l)orders 
of  the  stnnnn.  As  he  came  up  he  noticed  some- 
thing bke  an  opening,  and  walked  towards  it.    Ho 


u 


THE    ROCKY   CAVERN.  187 

saw  that  a  huge  mass  of  rock  lay  tilted  over  and 
resting  against  another  mass  in  such  a  way  that  it 
formed  a  covered  chamber  about  ten  feet  long  and 
six  feet  wide.  The  floor  was  a  Hat,  rough  rock, 
and  the  end  consisted  of  damp  moss.  Immediate- 
ly beside  this  the  stream  flowed  along  in  a  deeper 
cliannel  than  usual,  for  all  its  waters  had  gathered 
on  this  side,  leaving  the  rest  of  its  bed  bare.  Piiil 
was  so  struck  wit!,  the  appearance  of  this  place 
that  he  examined  it  quite  closely,  and  began  to 
think  that  it  would  be  an  excellent  place  to  pass 
tiie  night  in.  He  could  not  have  found  it  at  a 
I  better  time.    Already  it  was  growing  a  little  dusk, 

ind  he  was  thoroughly  worn  out.  In  fact  he  was 
so  tired  tliat  after  stopping  here  one  minute  he 
found  it  impossible  to  go  forward  any  farther  ;  so 
he  at  once  resolved  to  sta3\ 

On  the  top  of  the  rock  was  a  quantity  of  moss, 
and  as  he  was  going  to  pass  the  night  here  he 
proceeded  to  gather  it,  and  collected  a  sufficient 
quantity  to  make  a  comfortable  couch  when 
strewed  on  the  rocky  floor  of  his  little  cave.  But 
there  were  other  things  to  do  before  he  sliouhl  be 
able  to  rest.  He  was  once  more  in  a  state  of 
starvation,  and  the  only  thing  for  him  to  do  was 
to  resort  to  his  flsliingdino.  He  found  u  pole 
without  mu(;li  trouble,  and  then  threw  his  line. 
At  first  ho  met  with  no  success.  But  he  per- 
severed, and  walked  farther  up  the  stream  till  he 
came  to  a  place  that  looked  more  favorable.     Here 


188  FIRE   IN   TPIE   WOODS. 

his  efforts  were  crowned  with  success,  for  in  a 
little  time  he  had  hooked  no  less  than  six  trciit^ 
one  of  which  was  large  enough  for  a  meal  by  itself 

After  this  he  took  a  bath  in  the  running  stream, 
and  felt  once  more  the  same  invigorating  and  resto- 
rative effects  from  the  cool  water  which  he  had 
experienced  during  his  bath  in  the  lake. 

Then  he  kindled  his  fire  on  the  edge  of  the 
stream,  near  his  cave,  and  cooked  two  of  the  fish, 
reserving  the  others  for  the  next  morning. 

This  meal  was  as  great  a  success  as  the  former 
ones  had  been,  and  at  length  he  retired  to  the 
little  cave  where  he  had  already  spread  the  moss 
for  a  bed.  Here  he  oould  not  help  recalling  the 
events  of  the  day.  He  had  hoped,  on  starting,  by 
this  time  to  have  reached  some  human  al)ode.  He 
had  not  done  so.  But  this,  instead  of  exciting  his 
I  regrets,  gave  way  altogether  to  emotions  of  grati- 

tude. He  had  been  saved  from  thirst  and  from 
hunger  in  a  most  wonderful  manner,  and,  even  at 
this  moment,  instead  of  feeling  utterly  exhausted, 
he  had  little  else  than  a  sense  of  languid  weari- 
ness. All  this  filled  him  with  thankfulness,  and 
kneeling  down  in  his  little  cave,  he  offered  up  his 
most  grateful  thanks  to  the  merciful  Being  who 
had  protected  his  wanderings  during  the  day. 

After  this  he  lay  down  on  his  moss  and  soon  fell 
asleep. 


I 


AN   ANXIOUS   NIGHT.  189 


XIV. 

Ba7±  —  An  anxious  Nic/Jd.  —  Suspicions.  —  Heap- 
pearance  of  Fat.  —  2'he  Woes  of  Pat.  —  A  hide- 
ous  Thowjht.  —  The  Leper.  —  Off  to  the  Woods.  — 
Indian  File.  —  The  Rear  Guard.  —  Defection  of 
Fat.  —  He  makes  a  Circuit.  —  "  Ilyar  I  Hijar  I 
You  dar  ?     Whar  Mas'r  Bart  ?  " 

'HE  siglit  of  tlie  lurid  glow  which  had  burst 
upon  Bart's  eyes  as  he  k)oJved  from  the 
priest's  house  excited  within  him  anxious 
thoughts,  which  kept  him  awake  for  hours  on  that 
night;  the  thought  tliat  Phil  was  wandering  in 
tiiose  woods,  and  that  all  around  him  Avere  these 
wrathful  flames ;  the  thought  that  perhaps  he 
might  have  already  fallen  a  victim;  the  thought 
that  his  search  could  scarcely  be  made  now,  since 
tliey  could  hardly  hope  to  penetrate  the  woods  for 
any  distance  ;  the  thought  that  now  any  search, 
however  extensive,  might  perhaps  be  too  late. 
He  slept  but  little.  Every  little  while  he  would 
rise  from  his  bed,  and  look  out  of  the  window 
towards  the  woods,  to  see  if  that  lurid  glow  con- 
tinued.    It  was  visible  for   a  long  time,   but   at 


190  FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 

length  died  out  altogether.  But  this  did  not 
lessen  Bart's  anxieties,  for  now  the  smoke  grew 
thicker,  and  the  smell  of  it  was  most  unpleasantly 
peceptihle,  exciting  the  very  natural  thought  that 
the  fire  glow  was  no  longer  visihle,  not  because 
the  fires  were  extinguished,  but  rather  because 
the  smoke  had  grown  so  dense  that  it  hid  it  from 
view. 

When  Bart  arose  it  was  not  yet  daybreak,  and 
on  coming  down  stairs  no  one  was  visible.  He 
went  out  of  doors,  and  paced  up  and  down  the  road 
uncf  sily.  After  a  while  two  men  made  their  ap- 
pearance, whom  Bart  recognized  as  the  ones  who 
were  to  be  the  guides  in  their  exploration  of  the 
forest.  He  felt  too  anxious  and  too  sick  at  heart 
to  ask  them  anything,  for  he  thought  that  anything 
they  would  say  would  only  confirm  his  worst  fears, 
and  as  yet  he  did  not  wish  to  know  the  worst.  He 
wished  to  cling  to  his  hopes,  faint  though  tliey 
now  were,  until  hope  should  be  no  longer  possible. 
After  a  while  Solomon  made  his  a})])earance  ;  but 
Bart  had  nothing  to  say  to  him,  and  the  old  man, 
seeing  by  his  manner  that  he  did  not  wish  to  be 
spoken  to,  held  aloof,  and  sat  down  in  silence  on 
the  doorstep. 

It  was  now  day,  and  still  the  priest  had  not 
made  his  appearance.  Bart  wondered  at  this,  pnd 
attributed  it  to  his  oversleeping  himself  Inis 
made  him  feel  somewhat  impatient,  and  he  thought 
hardly  of  the  priest  for  yielding  to  his  drowsiness 


REAPPEARANCE    OF   PAT.  191 

at  such  a  time  as  this,  when  it  was  a  question  of 
life  and  death ;  but  he  waited,  and  checked  a 
rising  impulse  wliich  he  had  to  hunt  up  the 
priest's  bedroom  and  wake  him.  While  he  was 
fretting  and  fuming,  the  two  French  guides  had 
placidly  seated  tliemselves  on  the  doorstep  in  a 
line  with  Solomon,  and  began  +o  smoke,  chatting 
with  one  anotlier  in  French. 

Suddenly  Bart  heard  footsteps  behind  liim.     He 
thought  it  was  the  priest,  and  turned  hastily.     It 
was  not  the  priest,  however,  but  Pat.     Bart  had 
actually  forgotten  Pat's  existence  ever  since  that 
moment   on  the   previous  evening,  when  he  had 
gone  out  doors  to  look  for  him,  and  had  seen  that 
terrible  appearance  over  the  forest  trees.     As  he 
now    recogr.ized    him,  he   wondered   at   his    long 
al)sence,  and    noticed  at  the   same  time  tiiat  Pat 
looked  very  much  agitated.     At  once  he  thought 
that  Pat  had  heard  bad  news,  and  had  come  to  tell 
him.     This  idea  was  so  terrible  that  he  stood  para- 
lyzed, and  could  scarcely  utter  a  word. 
Pat  came  up  and  gave  a  heavy  sigh. 
''■  It's  diireadful  —  it's  terrible.  Och,  wurrooooo!" 
Bart    looked    at   him    with    an    awful    face,  not 
daring  to  ask  the  questi(ui  that  was  upon  his  lijjs, 
and    now   feeling   sure    that  Pat   lirA   heard   the 
worst. 

"  Och,  what'll  we  iver  do?  "  cried  Pat;  "  what'l] 
we  iver  do  ?  Sure  an  me  heart's  lairly  broke  widin 
me,  so  it  is." 


H 


192  FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 

"Plow  did  you  find  it  out?"  asked  Bart,  in  a 
trembling  voice. 

"  Sure  an  wasn't  it  the  praste  himself  that  tould 
me/'  said  Pat,  in  a  tone  of  voice  that  sounded  like 
a  wail  of  despair. 

"  The  priest  ?  "  said  Bart.     "  You  saw  him  then 

—  did  you.     Where  —  where  is  lie  ?  " 

"  The  praste,"  said  Pat,  dolefully  ;  "  sorra  one  o' 
me  knows.  I  seen  him  dhrivin  off.  I  wor  sleepin 
undher  a  tray  behind  the  fince.  I  wasn't  goin 
to  thrust  mesilf  in  their  leper  houses,  so  I 
wasn't." 

"  You  saw  him.    0  —  he  has  gone,  has  he  —  gone 

—  to  —  to  —  to   see    about   it,^^    stammered   Bart, 
feverishly ;  ^'  and  what  did  he  tell  you  ?  " 

"Tell  me?  "  said  Pat,  dubiously. 

"  Yes.     You  said  you  saw  him." 

"  80  I  did." 

"  Well  — what  did  he  say  about  it?  " 

"Sure  an  he  didn't  say  anythin  jist  thin." 

"  But  he  told  you  about  it,  you  said." 

"  So  he  did  ;  but  it  was  last  night." 

"  ,  in  the  niglit  —  you  saw  him  in  the  night  — 
he  must  have  been  out  then  —  and  I  thought  ho 
was  in  bed.  0,  why  wasn't  I  with  him?  Why 
didn't  he  tnke  me?  But  I  suppose  he  thought  Pd 
be  too  nmch  overcome,  and  so  he  didn't  want  to 
tell  mo  —  and  did  he  tell  you  this,  Pat?  Tell  mo 
all.     Tell  me  all  —  don't  keep  me  in  suspense." 

At  these  incoherent  words  Pat  stared  at  Bart  in 


THE  LEPERS   AGAIN.  193 

uttor  {unazeinont,  and  for  a  moment  thought  that 
lie  liad  lost  his  senses. 

"Suspinse?"  lie  said  — "  siispinse?  Wliat  do 
you  mean?  You  talk  as  thougli  you'd  lost  your 
sivin  sinsis  !  Sure  an  diihi't  you  hear  it  yerself, 
ivery  word  ?  Sure  an  worn't  ye  in  the  room  your- 
self, listhening?     Didn't  ye  hear  it  all  ?  " 

"  Hear  it  all?  Hear  what?  "  cried  Bart.  "  About 
what  ?  " 

"  Why,  about  the  lepers,  sure.  Sorra  a  thought 
I've  had  iver  since,  except  al)out  that  same.  And 
I  went  off,  so  I  did  ;  for  I  didn't  dare  to  slape  in 
that  leper  house,  wid  i-.  man  that  lives  among  the 
lepers  and  shakes  hands  wid  them." 

"  The  lepers  !  "  cried  Bart  in  impatience,  but 
with  a  feeling  of  inexpressible  relief— the  relief 
which  is  felt  at  a  respite,  however  brief,  from  sor- 
row. "  The  lepers  !  Why,  I  was  talking  about 
Phil.     Have  you  heard  anything  about  Phil  ?  " 

''  Phil?"  said  Pat.  "  Arrah,  sure  he's  all  right. 
I  ony  wish  I  wor  in  his  shoes.  It  ud  be  a  happy 
boy  I'd  be  if  I  cud  change  places  wid  Phil.  Och, 
wurroo  — but  it's  a  bittlier  day  whin  I  came  to' 
this  place." 

"  You  haven't  heard  anything  at  all  about  Phil, 
then?"  said  Bart. 

"Niver    a    word,"    said    Pat.     "I've   heard  too 
much  about  other  things." 
Bart  turned  away. 

As   for  Pat,  he  wandered  disconsolately  to  the 
13 


■»■  I  »    I  iMigWP— WW 


194  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

fence  by  tlie  road  side,  and  leaning  against  it,  he 
stood  there  in  a  woe-begone  attitude,  —  the  very 
picture  of  despair. 

Bart  now  resumed  his  mehmcholy  walk  ;  but  be- 
fore he  had  taken  many  paces,  he  heard  the  rapid 
gallop  of  a  horse,  and  in  turning,  he  saw  a  rider 
approaching  the  house,  who,  on  drawing  nearer, 
turned  out  to  be  the  priest.  Bart  now  saw  that 
he  had  done  his  kind  host  a  great  injustice  in 
supposing  that  he  had  been  oversleeping  himself, 
and  felt  a  natural  sorrow  at  his  suspicions.  As  the 
priest  dismounted,  the  very  first  words  which  he 
addressed  to  Bart  made  the  compunction  of  the 
latter  over  his  unjust  suspicions  still  stronger, 
since  they  showed  that,  so  far  from  sleeping  while 
Bart  was  wakeful,  in  his  anxiety  over  Phil,  he  had 
left  Bart  in  bed,  and  had  been  traversing  the  coun- 
try for  miles,  in  order  to  institute  a  general  search 
after  the  lost  bov. 

"  I  took  a  few  hours'  sleep,"  said  he,  "  and  rose 
between  one  and  two.  I've  been  up  the  road  for 
twelve  or  fifteen  miles,  and  have  persuaded  a  num- 
ber of  people  to  make  a  search  of  the  woods  as 
far  as  they  are  able  to.  They  are  all  full  of  the 
deepest  anxiety  about  the  poor  lad,  and  you  may 
rest  assured  that  the  good  people  will  do  all  in 
their  power  for  him.  My  people  are  not  very  in- 
tellectual, nor  are  they  what  you  call  progressive  ; 
but  they  are  affectionnle,  simple-hearted,  and 
brave ;  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  that  I  have 


. 


OFF   TO   THE   WOODS.  195 

spoken  to  wlio  will  have  any  peace  until  tliat  poor 
lad's  iate  is  decided.  So  when  we  go  olF  to  search 
after  him,  you  may  console  yourself  with  the 
thought  that  our  party  is  but  one  out  of  several 
that  are  engaged  in  the  same  search.'' 

At  this  disclosure  of  the  real  business  of  the 
priest,  Bart  was  so  overcome  with  mingled  emo, 
tions,  that  he  could  scarcely  say  a  word.  He  could 
only  murmur  some  confused  expressions  of  grat 
itude. 

"  0,  never  mind  me,"  said  the  priest,  "  and  my 
poor  efforts.  I  assure  you  I  am  as  eager  to  find 
him  as  you  are.  Pray  to  God,  my  boy.  He  only 
can  save  your  friend.  And  now  let  us  set  out  at 
cnc-e." 

With  these  words  the  priest  hurridd  up  to  the 
two  guides,  and  spoke  a  few  words  to  them  in 
French.  Thf-  guides  answered,  and  after  a  short 
conversation  the  priest  went  into  the  house.  The 
guides  took  his  horse  and  put  him  in  the  stable ; 
and  by  the  time  they  had  returned,  the  priest  came 
out,  and  they  all  went  off  towards  the  woods. 

"  Don't  be  discouraged,"  said  the  priest  to  Bart, 
"  about  the  fires.  After  all,  they  may  have  driven 
your  friend  away  in  this  direction.  For  you  see 
he  would  naturally  keep  as  far  as  p()ssi])le  away 
from  them,  and  as  they  advanced  he  would  retreat. 
And  so,  if  they  are  really  coming  in  this  direction, 
he  would  be  forced  to  come  this  Avav  too.  H"  so,  I 
think  some  of  my  friends  would  be  likely  to  meet 


I 


I 


196  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


I 


with  him.     The   only  real  clangor  is,  that  he  may 

1)0  tired  out,  and  ho  iinahlo  to  endure  the  latigue. 

But  you  say  ho  is  an  aetive  boy,  and  tliat  lie  liad  a 

little   food  witli  him  ;  and    so    I    really  think  that 

there   is   every   reason  for   hope.     You  must  try, 

then,  to  keep  up  your  spirits,  and  remember  that 

even  if  we  don't  find  him  he  may  yet  be  safe  and  | 

may  meet  with  others  ;  or  he  may  even  get  out  of 

the  woods  unassisted," 

These  words  were  very  encouraging  to  Bart, 
and  excited  his  best  hopes.  As  he  was  natuiallv^ 
light-hearted  and  sanguine,  he  determined  to 
struggle  against  his  depression,  and  cling  as  long 
as  possible  to  the  hopes  that  the  present  held  out. 
The  consequence  was,  that  he  at  once  surmounted 
his  gloom,  and  dismissed  from  his  mind  those 
desponding  thoughts  which  had  taken  i)ossession 
of  him  ever  since  he  saw  the  glow  of  the  fire. 
He  became  more  like  his  old  self,  and  commenced 
the  exploring  tour,  full  of  life,  and  energy,  and 
hope. 

Far  different  was  it  with  Pat.  His  trouble  arose 
from  a  dark,  dreadful  terror  which  had  taken 
full  possession  of  him,  and  which  not  even  his 
buoyancy  of  soul  and  natural  cheerfulness  could 
withstand.  It  was  the  terror  that  had  been  awa- 
kened by  tiie  mention  of  the  leprosy. 

And  so  it  was  that  as  the  party  entered  the 
woods,  Pat  held  back ;  and  he  who  was  usually 
among  the  fir-^t,  now  lingered  the  last.     He  had  a 


pat's  depression. 


lo: 


terrible  fear  that  lie  had  run   a  risk  of  ciitching- 
the  loathsome   disease  by  bathing  in  ^dlut  he  con- 
sidered  the   "leper  waters/' and  by  entering-  the 
house  of  one  who  was  on  such  faniiliar  terms  with 
the  lepers  as  the  priest  professed  to  be.  It  seemed 
to  him,  now,  that  the  only  possible  chance  that  re. 
mained   for  him  was   to  keep  as  far  away  from  the 
priest  as  possible.     He   remembered  w^ith  horror 
that  he  had  eaten  at  the  priest's  house  on  the  pre- 
ceding evening.     lie  had  not  eaten  anything  that 
morning,    nor    had   any  of  them    as   yet ;  for    the 
guides  carried   provisions,  and  it  was  intended  to 
breakfast  in  the  woods.      But  to  Pat  all  tiioughts 
of  eating  were  obnoxious  ;  the  sickening  thought 
of  the  leprosy  drove  away  all  his  api)etite  ;  and  if 
he   followed  them  into  the  woods,   it*was  at  a  dis- 
tance ;  and  then  only  because  there  still  remained 
a  loyal  icg;)rd  for  Phil,  and  thus  the  tallies  were 
completely  turned.     Bart,  who  the  day  before  had 
been  despondent,   was   now   hopeful;  while    Pat, 
who  had  then  been  the  hopeful  one,  had  now  sunk 
down  into  a  state  of  depression  to  wdiich  language 
fails  to  do  justice. 

After  walking  into  the  woods  for  some  distance, 
they  sat  down  and  made  a  breakfast  off  some  ham 
and  crackers,  which  were  carried  by  the  guides. 
Pat  sat  at  a  distance  from  the  rest,  and  resolutely 
refused  all  invitations  to  partake,  pleading  a  slight 
sickness  ;  nor  was  poor  Pat's  plea  altogether  a 
feigned  one  ;  for  by  this  time  he  had  worked  him- 


. 


T 


198 


FTRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


self  into  a  state  of  utter  panic,  and  tlio  miserable 
feelin<::s  resulting  from  his  loss  of  a  night's  sleep 
and  IVom  hunger  were  attributed  by  him  to  the 
approach  of  leprosy.  So  poor  Pat  stood  aloof  from 
the  rest,  pale,  anxious,  and  already  beginning  to 
think  that  he  had  made  a  great  mistake  in  ac- 
companying them  at  all.  The  more  he  thought 
upon  this,  the  more  convinced  did  he  become 
that  his  presence  there  in  company  with  them 
was  both  unnecessary  and  unwise,  —  unnecessary, 
for,  as  it  now  seemed  to  him,  Phil  was  perfectly 
able  to  take  care  of  himself ;  and  unwise,  for  ho 
was  only  destroying  his  chance  of  escape  from  the 
leprosy,  by  thus  remaining  in  the  company  of  those 
who  had  its  terrible  seeds  clinging  to  their  clothes 
and  to  their  persons. 

A.  prey  thus  to  his  anxiety,  Pat's  generous  desire 
to  help  Phil  gradually  weakened  in  the  presence 
of  his  instinct  of  self-preservation,  and  his  belief 
that  Phil  was  safe  somewhere  made  him  all  the 
more  eager  to  secure  safety  for  himself.  The 
wretchedness  which  he  felt,  from  the  loss  of  his 
night's  rest,  and  want  of  food,  and  terror,  till  com- 
bined, tended  to  turn  all  his  thoughts  upon  him- 
self; and  the  more  wretched  he  felt,  the  more  did 
he  attribute  it  to  the  awful  disease  which  he  so 
greatly  dreaded.  And  so,  at  last,  by  the  time  they 
had  finished  their  repast,  Pat  had  felt  so  overcome 
by  his  terrors,  that  he  determined,  at  all  hazards, 
to  free  himself  from  his  dangerous  associates,  and 


TPROUOH   THE   WOODS. 


199 


escape  somewhere  before  it  was  too  late.  Having 
tliiis  made  up  Iiis  mind,  it  only  remained  to  find 
some  favorable  opportunity  of  slipping  an'ay  un- 
observed, and  thus  securing  that  safety  for  which 
he  longed. 

After  their  breakfast  they  began  to  go  forward. 
The  two  guides  of  course  went  first,  one  behind 
the  other.  Then  followed  the  priest,  and  after  him 
came  Bart.  Pat  wanted  Solomon  to  go  next ;  but 
Solomon  declined,  from  a  feeling  of  humility  natural 
to  him,  which  made  him  seek  the  lowest  —  that  is  to 
say,  the  last  —  place  on  the  line  of  march,  and  partly 
also  from  a  desire  to  be  in  the  rear,  so  as  to  see 
that  no  one  straggled  away.  Thus  they  all  went 
on  in  Indian  file,  and  after  Bart  came  Pat,  while 
Solomon  brought  up  the  rear.  ♦ 

As  they  thus  went  on,  one  after  the  other,  in 
Indian  file,  through  the  woods,  it  was,  of  course, 
impossible  for  any  one  to  see  all  the  rest  of  the 
party.  It  was  enough  if  each  one  should  see  the 
one  who  might  be  innnediately  in  front.  This  was 
especially  the  case  when  the  woods  grew  thicker 
and  the  march  more  labo/ious.  Bart  then  couhl 
only  see  the  priest ;  and  Pat,  Bart ;  while  Solomon 
could  only  see  Pat.  In  this  way  they  went  on 
then,  and  this  mode  of  progress  soon  suggested  to 
Pat  a  simple,  easy,  and  perfectly  natural  raode  of 
separating  himself  from  the  others.  He  had  only 
to  slacken  his  pace  a  little  for  a  short  distance. 
He  had  only  to  fall  back  slightly,  and  he  would 


200 


FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 


easily  be  able  to  puu  between  himself  and  the 
others  such  obstacles  that  they  would  be  able 
neither  to  see  him  nor  to  tind  him.  This,  now,  be- 
came his  fixed  resolve. 

So,  as  he  went  on,  Pat  allowed  Bart  to  go  gradual- 
ly farther  and  farther  ahead,  until  at  length  he  was 
out  of  sight.  But  even  then  he  was  not  satisfied. 
He  still  kept  on,  but  chose  a  course  which  swerved 
slightly  from  the  one  which  the  others  were  fol- 
lowing ;  and  entering  upon  this  course,  he  sought  to 
make  it  more  and  more  apart  from  the  track  of  the 
others.  As  he  went  along  he  kept  constantly 
turning  to  the  right,  and  thus  before  long  he  had 
made  a  complete  circuit ;  and  then,  when  he 
thought  he  had  turned  far  enough  to  be  heading 
towards  the  place  from  which  he  set  out,  he  ined 
to  go  in  a  straight  line.  In  all  this  he  was  com- 
pletely successful ;  that  is  to  say,  so  far  as  con- 
cerned his  desire  not  to  be  noticed  ;  and  so  he 
kept  on  for  so  long  a  time  that  at  length  he  began 
to  be  on  the  lookout  for  the  open  land  and  the  sea. 

But  suddenly  there  was  a  loud  cry  behind 
him, — 

"  Ilyar,  ITyar!  you  dar!     Whar  Mas'r  Bart?" 

It  was  Solomon. 

Pat  had  forgotten  all  about  Solomon;  but  now 
he  remembered  that  Solomon  had  been  behind 
him,  and  he  saw  that  he  must  have  been  following 
him  all  the  time,  though  he  had  been  too  excited 
to  be  conscious  of  that  important  fact. 


SOLOMON   EXCITED. 


201 


Solomon  in   a  Rage.  —  FUjht  of  Pat. The  Ex- 

plorers  penetrate  the  Forest.  —  The  missing  Com- 
panions. —  A^ew  Fears  and  Anxieties.  -—A  baffled 
Search.  —  Onward.— The  Recesses  of  the  Forest. 
—  An  op>cn  Space.  —  Halt  1 

^YAR,  Ilyar  !  you  dar  !     Wliar  Mus'r  Bart?  " 
Tlie  cry  at  onco  arrosttul  Pat.    Ho  stopped 
sliort,  and  turning  round  ho  iound  liimsolt' 
face  to  face  with  Solomon. 

"Whar  Mas'r  Bart?"  said  Solomon  ac-ain.  Ho 
was  excited  and  agitated,  and  looked  ail  around, 
and  peered  into  the  forest  ahead  with  most  anx- 
ions   curiosity. 

''Bart?"  said  Pat,  in  a  dejected  tone;  "sure 
an  I  don't  know."' 

''Warn't  you  follerin  him?"  cried  Solomcm,  in 
an  excited  voice. 

"  Sure  an  T  wor,"  said  Pat ;  '^  but  I  lost  sight  of 
him  iver  an  iver  so  long  ago.  An  wheriver  he 
is  now,  it  ud  take  more'n  me  to  tell." 

At  this  Solomon  made  a  gesture  of  despair,  and 
looked  wildly  all  around. 


r 


202 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


"]\ra,s'r  B'>rt  lost!  Mas'r  Bart  lost!"  ho  mur- 
mured, clutching  his  wrinkled  hands  together. 

"  Och,  you  needn't  bother  a])out  him.  Sure  an 
he's  follerin  the  praste  an  the  Frinchmin,  an  he's 
all  safe  an  right.  The  last  time  I  see  him  he  was 
close  on  the  liails  of  the  praste." 

Solomon  did  not  seem  io  have  heard  him.  His 
eyes  rolled  wildly.  He  looked  all  around  eagerly, 
wistfully,  with  unspeakable  anxiety  in  his  face. 

"  Mas'r  Bart  lost !  Mas'r  Bart  lost !  "  he  mur- 
mured, still  wringing  his  hands. 

"  But  I  till  ye  he  ain't  lost,"  cried  Pat.  "  He's 
wid  the  praste,  so  he  is.     Didn't  I  see  him?" 

"  Don't  see  no  use,"  cried  Solomon,  angrily,  "  for 
de  likes  ob  you  to  go  foolin  round  dis  yer  way, 
leadin  folks  eberywhar,  out  ob  de  right  track.  I 
bound  to  foller  Mas'r  Bart,  an  heah  you  go  a  foolin 
an  a  gittin  lost.  What's  de  sense  ob  dis  yer  pro- 
ceedin  ?  What  do  you  mean,  anyhow  ?  Ef  you 
tink  I'm  goin  to  stan  any  such  tomfoolery,  you 
precious  mis'aken.  You  better  begin  now  and  go 
ahead,  and  find  out  whar  Mas'r  Bart  is." 

Solomon's  tone  was  full  of  a  certain  angry 
menace,  which  was  so  utterly  unlike  his  usual 
maimer  that  Pat  stared  at  him  in  wonder. 

"Ah,  howl  yer  whist,"  he  exclaimed,  at  last; 
"  sure  I  ain't  the  only  one  that's  got  lost  in  these 
wuds,  so  I  ain't.  You  can  find  him  yerself  bet- 
ilier'n  me,  so  ye  can,  if  ye  want  to.  How  can  I 
find  him !     Sorra  one  of  me  knows  the  way  any- 


SOLOMO.NS    ANXIETY   FOU   BART.  203 

wheres  out  of  tliis  ;  and  I'm  fairly  broken-hearted, 
so  I  am,  and  that's  all  about  it." 

And  saying  this,  Pat  flung  himself  down,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  He  felt  over- 
whelmed by  his  troubles.  His  fears  of  the  leprosy 
were  still  strong  within  him,  inid  in  addition  to 
this  he  felt  a  keen  sense  of  self-reproach  at  his 
desertion  of  Bart.  Had  it  not  been  for  ^^olomon 
he  might  not  have  thought  of  this  ;  but  the  sight 
of  the  old  man's  anxiety  about  Bart  brought  before 
him  in  the  plainest  manner  the  fact  that  he  had 
been  disloyal  to  his  friend,  and  had  deserted  him, 
in  this  hour  of  need. 

As  for  Solomon,  he  took  only  one  look  at  him, 
and  then  turned  away.  In  his  faithful  heart  there 
was  only  one  feeling,  one  desire  ;  and  that  was,  to 
get  back  to  Bart.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  actual 
state  of  the  case.  He  did  not  know  what  a  circuit 
Pat  had  made,  but  merely  supposed  that  they  had 
g'ot  off  the  track  that  the  others  were  following. 
With  this  idea  in  his  mind,  he  proceeded  to  call 
after  Bart,  so  as  to  open  u})  a  communication  with 
him.  This  he  strove  to  do  by  means  of  a  series  of 
the  most  unearthly  yells,  shrieks,  and  howls  that 
ever  echoed  through  the  recesses  of  a  harmless 
and  unoffending  forest.  Yell  followed  yell  ;  howl 
succeeded  howl ;  and  a  long  series  of  hoots,  halloos, 
shrieks,  whoops,  and  hullaballoos  followed  in  swift 
suf^cession.  After  each  effort  Solomon  stood  listen- 
ing  attentively,   waiting    for    a    response    before 


Ti  f 


.  ijf 


204 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


beginning  again.  But  his  listening  and  his  wait- 
ing were  all  unavailing,  ^or  no  response  came,  and 
all  his  unearthly  cries  only  echoed  through  the 
dim  forest  aisles,  without  bringing  back  any  answer 
from  the  one  whom  they  were  intended  to  reach. 
And  no  wonder ;  for  by  this  time  Bart  was  very 
far  indeed  out  of  hearing. 

At  last  Solomon  gave  up  in  utter  discourage- 
ment. He  stood  for  a  time  in  deep  dejection,  and 
then  turned  towards  Pat,  who  had  all  this  time 
remained  in  the  same  attitude,  sitting  with  his 
head  buried  in  his  hands. 

"  How  long  ago  is  it,"  asked  Solomon,  "  sence 
you  lost  sight  ob  Mas'r  Bart  ?  " 

"  0,  iver  so  long,"  said  Pat ;  "  more  thin  an  hour, 
surely." 

"  Why  didn't  you  call  ?  " 

"  Sure  an  how  did  I  know?  "  said  Pat,  evasively ; 
"  wasn't  I  bothered  out  of  my  life,  an  fairly  heart- 
broke  ?  so  I  was.  An  sure  an  it's  been  a  bad  time 
for  us  all  intirely.  Bad  luck  to  the  day  whin  we 
came  out  to  this  leper  place,  —  an  me  goin  a  bathin 
in  the  leper  wather,  an  aitin  their  leper  dinners ; 
the  more  fool  I  was  for  that  same.  Sure  an  the 
])raste's  the  desayver,  so  he  is,  for  lay  din  a  poor 
feller  in  this  way." 

Not  one  word  of  this  did  Solomon  understand, 
nor  did  he  try  to  understand  it.  Ho  had  other 
things  to  think  about.  His  one  idea  was  to  find 
Bart  once  more.     He  did  not  think  that  he  was 


IN  SEARCH   OF  BART.  205 

far  away,  but  believed  that  he  had  been  going  on  in 
the  same  general  direction,  though  he  hod  swerved, 
to  some  extent,  from  the  true  course.  So  he  now 
determined  to  go  on,  and  hoped  that  he  might  iind 
Bart  before  loni>-. 

''  No  use  Avaitin  in  dis  ycr  place,  dis  yer  way," 
said  he.    "  I'm  a  goin  to  hunt  up  Mas'r  Bart." 

And  with  these  w^ords  he  left  Pat,  and  went  on- 
ward  into  tiie  woods,  continuing  the  sam.e  course 
whicli  Pat  had  been  leading.  As  to  aski  ig  Pat  to 
go  with  him,  the  thought  never  entered  his  head, 
—  partly  on  account  of  his  deep  disgust  at  Pat  for 
losing  sight,  as  he  believed,  of  Bart,  but  princi- 
pally from  the  fact  that  his  mind  was  so  filled  with 
the  desire  of  reaching  Bart,  tiiat  there  was  no 
place  in  it  for  any  tliouglit  of  any  bther  person. 
And  so  the  poor  old  fellow  plunged  into  the  woods, 
and  took  up  a  course  whicli  was  about  as  far  away 
from  that  in  whicli  Bart  was  going  as  it  well 
could  be. 

At  Solomon's  last  words  Pat  raised  his  head  and 
saw  him  go.  He  watched  him  till  he  was  out  of 
sight,  with  varied  emotions.  He  supposed  that 
Solomon  was  now  on  his  way  to  Tracadie,  while 
believing  himself  to  be  following  after  Bart  into 
the  depths  of  the  woods.  There  seemed,  there- 
fore, no  danger  before  him,  and  Pat  had  no  fears 
for  his  safety.  Had  Solomon  taken  another  direc- 
tion, Pat  would  probably  have  told  him  all ;  but  as 
it   was,   he"  saw   no    necessity  for  doing  so.     He 


r 


206 


FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 


! 


would  get  back,  he  thoiiglit,  in  the  course  of  time, 
to  Tracadie,  and  on  finding  himself  there,  he  would 
probably  wait  for  Bart's  return,  and  all  would  be 
well. 

He  sat  there  motionless,  until  Solomon  was  out 
of  sight,  and  then  began  to  think  of  himself  One 
thing  only  was  in  his  mind,  and  that  Avas,  the  de- 
sire to  fly,  as  soon  as  possible,  far  away  from  this 
abhorrent  place,  to  some  other  place,  where  he 
might  be  safe,  and  where  he  could  watch  to  see  if 
the  terrible  disease  had  really  taken  hold  of  him 
or  not.  So  with  this  purpose  he  arose,  and  after 
a  look  all  around,  he  chose  his  course,  and  went 
on  through  the  woods. 

Meanwhile  the  others  had  been  walking  diligent- 
ly onward ;  first  the  guides  leading  the  way,  next 
the  priest,  and  then  Bart.  Not  a  word  was  spoken 
by  any  one  of  them;  the  guides  were  too  intent  upon 
maintaining  a  correct  course ;  the  priest  was  too 
much  absorbed  in  watching  the  movements  of  the 
guides,  and  in  observing  the  scenes  through  which 
he  was  passing ;  and  Bart  was  too  much  occupied 
with  conjectures  about  the  probable  course  of 
Phil's  wanderings  to  think  anything  about  the 
members  of  their  own  party.  Bart  had  a  perfect 
conviction  that  Pat  and  Solomon  were  behind  him ; 
so  perfect,  in  fact,  that  it  remained  in  his  mind  as 
a  foundation  underlying  all  his  other  thoughts  ;  so 
perfect  that  those  thoughts  never  reverted  to 
those  behind  him,  but  turned  only  to  that  one  who 


REST    NEEDED. 


207 


was  at  a  distance  —  the  object  of  their  present 
search. 

Deeper  and  deeper,  and  farther  and  farther,  they 
advanced  into  the  forest,  encountering  every  vari- 
ation of  woodland  scenery,  and  every  alternation 
of  forest  travelling- ;  sometimes  finding  it  easy, 
again  finding  it  difiicult,  yet  at  no  time  encoun- 
tering any  very  serious  obstacle.  Their  pace  was 
somewhat  rapid,  for  the  guides  led  them  on  with- 
out much  regard  to  the  possible  weakness  or  clum- 
siness of  their  followers  ;  and  judging  them  by 
themselves,  they  maintained  a  pace  which  soon 
began  to  tell  very  seriously  upon  Bart,  and  forced 
him  to  put  forth  his  utmost  strength  and  energy 
in  order  to  keep  the  priest  in  sight. 

At  last,  after  a  walk  of  several  hour^,  the  guides 
stopped,  and  offered  to  rest.  They  were  coming, 
they  said,  upon  a  more  difficult  part  of  the  forest, 
where  greater  exertion  would  be  required,  and  it 
might  be  well  to  rest  for  a  time.  The  priest  ap- 
proved of  this,  and  mentioned  it  to  Bart.  He  also 
approved  of  it  most  heartily,  for  he  was  almost  ex- 
hausted, and  then  turned  to  mention  it  to  Pat.  To 
his  surprise,  however,  Pat  was  not  behind  him,  nor 
was  there  any  sign  of  Solomon. 

This  discovery  gave  him  a  great  shock,  and  the 
priest  also  was  equally  amazed  ;  but  both  he  and 
Bart  supposed  that  they  could  not  be  far  away, 
and  so  they  looked  back  through  the  woods  to  gain 
sight  of  their  advancing  figures.     Not  perceiving 


■^r- 


208 


FIRE    IN   THE    WOODS. 


any  signs  of  them,  tlioy  listened  to  find  out  if  they 
were  approaching.  No  sounds,  however,  arose  of 
any  kind ;  no  crackle  of  dry  twigs  announced 
coming  footsteps ;  and  as  they  listened,  there  was 
nothing  perceptible  to  their  hearing  save  the  in- 
tense and  drear  silence  of  a  vast  solitude. 

At  this  Bart  threw  a  look  of  anxious  inquiry 
at  the  priest. 

"  They  were  following  you  ?  "  said  the  priest,  in 
an  inquiring  tone. 

*'  Yes,"  said  Bart,  doubtfully. 

"  Have  you  noticed  that  they  fell  back?" 

"  1  didn't  notice  them  at  all.  1  took  it  for  granted 
all  the  time  that  they  were  behind  me." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  saw  them  last?" 

"  Well,  really,  I  don't  believe  1  have  looked  be- 
hind me  once  since  we  started." 

"  1  hope  they  haven't  lost  sight  of  us.  I  hope 
they  haven't  lost  their  way,"  said  the  priest. 

The  evident  anxiety  of  his  tone  affected  Bart 
very  seriously.  His  own  experience  in  the  woods, 
as  well  as  the  loss  of  Phil,  made  him  quite  ready 
to  believe  the  worst ;  and  tliough  it  puzzled  him 
greatly  to  conceive  how  Pat  and  Solomon  could 
quietly  lose  them,  and  go  off  on  a  strange  course, 
without  a  single  word,  at  the  same  time  he  began 
to  fear  that  such  must  have  been  the  case." 

''  Well,"  said  the  priest,  "  we  may  as  well  sit 
down  and  rest.  There's  nothing  else  to  be  done. 
Perhaps  they'll  be  along  presently.     Pll  make  the 


NEW   FEARS.  209 

guides  call  lor  tliem.     They  can  do  it  better  than 


we  can." 


He  then  spoke  to  the  guides;  and  the  latter,  as 
soon  as  they  understood  the  state  of  the  case, 
began  to  call  for  their  lost  coni])ani()ns.  They  did 
this  by  setting  up  a  series  of  cries  so  loud,  so 
shrill,  and  so  sliar}),  that  Bart  actually  started. 
He  had  never  in  all  his  life  heard  such  sounds. 
Pitched  ui)on  a  high  and  very  peculiar  key,  they 
seemed  to  have  a  far-penetrating  power  which 
would  suffice  to  carry  them  ibr  an  incredible 
distance. 

Again  and  again  the  guides  uttered  these  cries, 
and  after  each  cry  they  listened  ;  but  though  they 
listened  long, there  came  not  the  slightest  response. 
At  length,  at  a  suggestion  from  the 'priest,  one  of 
them  went  back  along  the  track  which  they  had 
traversed.  He  returned  after  about  half  an  hour. 
He  came  back  alone,  and  reported  that  he  had 
seen  no  sign  whatever  of  either  of  those  who 
were  lost. 

The  priest  now  looked  worried  and  uneasy.  He 
sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  thinking  over  this 
fresh  difficulty. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  they  seem  to  have 
lost  us  —  most  mysteriously  ;  and  now  the  only 
question  is,  shall  we  go  back  to  try  to  find  them, 
or  shall  we  go  on  ?  Which  needs  our  help  most,  the 
one  who  has  been  lost  for  two  or  three  days,  or 
those  who  have  just  left  us?" 

14 


210 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


"  0,  as  to  tliat,"  said  Bart,  "  they  are  botli  better 
able  to  take  care  of  themselves  than  Phil  is  ;  and 
besides,  they  are  nearer  to  the  settlements,  and 
they  must  know  the  way  back,  for  the  woods  have 
not  been  very  thick,  and  we  have  been  going  in  a 
straight  course,  and  so  it  seems  to  me  that  we  had 
better  go  on  and  try  to  find  poor  Phil." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  the  priest.  '^  At  any  rate 
ve  shall  rest  for  an  hour  yet,  and  perhaps  before 
we  start  they  will  find  us." 

They  remained  for  an  hour  longer,  but  there  was 
no  sign  of  the  lost  ones.  No  sound  of  crackling 
twigs,  no  calls  for  help,  awakened  the  deep  silence 
that  reigned  in  the  surrounding  forest. 

At  length  they  rose  to  resume  their  journey  in 
accordance  with  Bart's  decision.  This  new  calam- 
ity broke  up  that  cheerfulness  and  hopefulness 
which  he  had  been  maintaining  since  the  priest 
had  spoken  to  him  those  encouraging  words ;  and 
the  tliought  of  Pat  and  Solomon  wandering  about, 
without  food  and  without  guides  through  this 
trackless  forest,  gave  him  more  than  his  former 
anxiety.  It  seemed  a  succession  of  misfortunes 
that  was  destined  to  end  in  some  kind  of  a  tragedy, 
and  there  arose  within  his  mind  the  dark  anticipa- 
tion of  some  inevitable  calamity  as  the  natural 
termination  of  all  these  pieces  of  ill-fortune. 

Struggling  as  well  as  he  could  with  these 
gloomy  forebodings,  Bart  once  more  set  out  after 
his  guides  on  what  he  now  began  to  think  a  hope- 


DIFFICULTIES    OF   THE    WAY.  211 

less  errand.  But  now  tliore  came  other  things 
to  distract  his  mind  from  the  anxieties  that  were 
harassing  it  in  the  shape  of  the  difHcultiea  of  the 
way.  Tlie  guides  were  right  in  tlieir  warn- 
ing about  the  toil  and  hihor  that  now  hiy  be- 
fore them.  There  were  dense  underbrushes  to 
peiiotrate  —  so  dense  and  so  close  that  every  step 
was  a  struggle  ;  there  were  streams  to  ford,  in 
which  they  sank  to  the  armpits  ;  there  were  swamps 
to  cross,  where  there  was  nothing  but  one  long 
struggle  from  one  extremity  to  the  other;  and 
added  to  this  there  were  long  pathways  that  led 
over  fallen  trees,  and  through  tangled  weeds, 
and  tall  ferns,  which  impeded  the  feet  at  every 
step,  and  necessitated  the  most  painful  and  the 
most  nnremittent  exertion.  In  his  progress 
through  the  woods  before,  Bart  had  found  nothing 
like  this,  except  for  very  short  periods  of  time, 
and  he  thought  that  if  such  a  journey  as  this  had 
been  before  him  he  could  never  liav*>  escaped. 

Thus  far  the  heat  had  been  very  great.  There 
was  no  wind.  The  air  was  still  and  stagnant ;  and 
the  elfort  of  walking,  even  when  the  walk  had 
been  easy,  as  at  first,  had  been  somewhat  ex- 
haustive. But  now  the  exertion  required  was  far 
greater,  and  what  was  worse,  the  heat  far  more 
intense.  There  was  a  torrid  heat  in  the  atmos- 
phere that  exceeded  anything  which  he  had  thus 
far  experienced,  and  made  all  exertion  doubly 
toilsome  and  exhaustive.     Yet  in  spite  of  all  this, 


il^' 


212 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


his  deep  anxiety  about  Pliil  seemed  to  sustain  him, 
and  though  he  felt  ready  to  diop,  yet  lie  managed 
to  maintain  his  march,  and  follow  on  after  his 
guides. 

At  length  they  emerged  from  a  tangled  thicket 
which  had  offered  extraordinary  obstacles  to  their 
progress.  They  came  suddenly  into  a  wide,  open 
place,  quitu  bare  of  trees,  and  overgrown  with  low 
brush  and  trailing  evergreen  vines.  Here  there 
burst  upon  them  an  extraordinary  sight,  —  so  ex- 
traordinary, indeed,  that  they  all  stt)pped  with  one 
common  impulse,  and  gazed  in  silence  upon  the 
scene  before  them. 


THE   WIDE    OPEN   SPACE. 


213 


XVI. 

The  ivide  open  Space.  —  The  terrific  Scene.  —  Ar- 
rested and  driven  back.  —  New  Purposes.  —  The 
Story  of  the  Great  Fire  of  Miramichi^  and  the 
Rain  wrouyht  in  one  tremendous  Night. 


'FIE  wide  open  space  upon  which  they  had 
come  extended  for  some  miles  away  on  the 
riglit  and  on  the  left.  About  a  mile  olf  on 
the  otlier  side  arose  the  trees  of  the  forest  again. 
Above  these  the  smoke  was  rolhng-  in  vast,  dense, 
voluminous  clouds,  while  underneath  them  shone 
the  red  glare  of  a  mighty  conflagration.  It  was 
in  those  very  woods  which  rose  before  them.  They 
could  see  and  feel  its  terrible  presence.  They 
could  see,  behind  the  line  of  trees  that  stood  near- 
est, the  dash  of  the  surging  flames  as  they  seized 
upon  the  dry  foliage  aud  resinous  wood  of  the 
forest ;  and  the  angry  glow  of  the  red  Are,  as,  fbl- 
lowing  the  advance  of  the  flame,  it  grasped  and 
held  in  its  blighting,  withering  embrace  all  that 
it  seized  upon.  At  the  breath  of  the  flame  the 
forest  shrank  away ;  at  the  touch  ol  the  fire  it 
crumbled  into  dust. 


11 


21^ 


FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 


■1; 


The  foremost  line  of  trees  stood  there,  black 
against  the  glow  of  the  fire  that  raged  behind,  like 
the  bars  of  some  vast,  immeasurable  furnace.  Be- 
neath, behind  those  bars,  gleamed  the  fire  ;  over- 
head rose  the  smoke,  spreading  over  the  sky,  and 
filling  all  the  air  with  its  hot  and  suffocating  fumes. 

The  whole  party  stood  there  looking  on  in  si- 
lence. The  guides  conversed  with  one  another 
and  with  the  priest  in  French,  of  which  Bart  un- 
derstood nothing.  By  the  expression  of  their 
faces,  and  by  the  shaking  of  their  heads,  however, 
he  learned,  —  if  indeed  he  did  not  know  well 
enough  already,  —  that  any  farther  progress  in  that 
direction  was  impossible. 

"  What  do  they  say  ?  "  asked  he  at  length  of  the 
priest. 

"  Well,  of  course,  you  see  yourself,"  said  the 
priest,  ''  that  it's  impossible  to  go  any  farther,  and 
consequently  we  must  give  uj)  the  idea  of  reach- 
ing that  part  of  the  forest  where  your  friend  was 
lost." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  exclaimed  Bart,  in  deep 
distress. 

"  Well,  that  is  what  we  are  thinking  of  now. 
It  all  depends  upon  whether  your  friend  has  come 
in  this  direction  or  not.  Now,  you  came  in  this 
direction,  and  you  must  have  been  within  a  few 
miles  of  this  place ;  but  you  reached  Tracadie 
safely,  and  saw  no  fire." 

"  No,"  said  Bart,  "  only  smoke." 


THE   TERRIFIC   SCENE. 


215 


But  yon  must  liuve  boon  near  it,  for  you  saw 
the  flames  last  evening.     They  were  concealed  by 
the  trees  when  you  were  in  the  woods.     Besides 
the  fire  has,  no  doubt,  been  spreading  in  this  direc- 
tion  ever  snice.      Now,  as  for  your  friend,  if  he 
came  in  this  direction  at  all,  he  may  have  reached 
a  place  to  the  north  of  the   fire,  and  I  am  of  the 
opmion  that  we   might  go  in  that  direction.     We 
shall  thus  see  something  of  the  other  imrties  that 
are  searching  the  woods  up  there.     In  fact  there 
IS  nothing  else  to  be  done.     If  we  don't  find  him 
further  to  the  north,  then  1  shall  take  it  for  granted 
that   he    has  wandered   in  another  direction   alto- 
gether,  and  perhaps  may  come  out  at  the  Bay  de 
Chaleur."  *^ 

"  You  don't  think,  then,  that  there  is  -  reason 
for  despair?  " 

'^^Despair  ?     Certainly  not.     Why  should  there 

be  ?" 

''  0,  I  don't  know.  I  was  afraid  that  this  fire 
extended  everywhere,  like  the  great  fire  that  once 
raged  here." 

'' The  great  fire  ?  0,  no.  Such  a  thing  as  that 
can  only  take  place  once  in  centuries.  That  was 
the  result  of  a  combination  of  circumstances  so 
extraordniary,  that  it  is  not  likely  that  they  will 
ever  occur  again.  And  just  now,  such  a  fire  as 
that  IS  a  simple  i!n])ossil)iIitv." 

"  But  this  Hre  seems  pretty  bad,"  said  Bart  '^md 
K  s  certainly  nicreasing." 


216 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


I! 


"  This  fire  ?  O,  tliis  is  notliing,"  said  the  priest. 
"In  tliese  woods,  there  is  afire  somewhere  every 
Slimmer,  —  and  it  runs  on  till  a  rain  shower  comes. 
This  is  only  a  local  affair,  confined  to  this  particu- 
lar district.  It  may  possibly  extend  for  ten  or 
twelve  miles,  and  have  a  width  of  two  or  three 
miles.  It  is  troublesome,  and  you  perceive  the 
heat  in  the  air,  and  it  sends  out  smoke  for  many 
miles ;  but  there  is  nothing  in  it  that  is  at  all  ex- 
traordinary. There  is  nothing  in  it  that  a  man 
cannot  escape  from.  It  is  not  like  the  swift  and 
hurricane  speed  of  the  great  fire,  that  swept  in 
one  night  through  all  this  country,  and  made  one 
vast  waste  of  ashes  and  death  before  morning. 
0,  no.  As  for  your  friend,  he  ought  to  be  able  to 
get  along;  and  every  brook  that  he  cones  to 
will  give  him  fish  to  eat.  It's  the  greatest  country 
for  trout  and  sahnon  in  the  >vorld.  In  fact,  1  don't 
see  the  slightest  cause  for  anxiet}'  about  him." 

These  words  gave  Bart  a  relief  iliat  was  inex- 
pressible, and  he  was  now  freed  from  the  terrible 
anxiety  that  had  so  long  devoured  him.  The 
opinion  of  the  priest  was  of  great  value,  for  he, 
no  doubt,  knew  perfectly  well  just  what  danger 
there  might  be.  His  estimation  of  the  fire  af- 
forded still  greater  relief.  Bart  had  feared  that 
it  was  some  universal  conflagration ;  but  it  now 
turned  out  to  be  a  local  affair,  so  commonplace 
that  no  one  here  regarded  it. 

"I  think,"  said  the  priest,  "  that  we  had  better 
go  back  at  once." 


FURTHER   CONSULTATION. 


217 


''Go  back?" 

"  Yes." 
''  Wliere  ?  " 
"  To  Tracadie." 

"  But  I  thought  we  wore  going  to  search  farther 
for  Phil  — to  the  north." 

"  So  we  are,"  said  the  priest ;  "  but  we'll  have 
to  go  back.  If  we  were  to  walk  through  the 
woods,  we  would  only  be  losing  time.  Now,  I  pro- 
pose to  go  back,  and  drive  along  the  road  to  a 
place  about  fifteen  miles  away,  where  some  men 
are  already  in  the  woods  engaged  in  this  search. 
We  can  either  go  there,  or  go  farther  on ;  in  fact, 
it  might  be  well  to  go  as  far  as  the  Bay  de 
Chaleur,  and  get  peoi)le  there  to  keep  a  lookout. 
But  first,  we  must  go  back,  and  we  can  see  what 
the  prospects  are." 

They  now  retraced  their  steps  in  accordance 
with  what  the  priest  had  said.  It  was  a  deep  dis- 
appointment to  Bart  to  find  himself  returning 
again  without  having  accomplished  anything  ;  and 
in  addition  to  this,  ho  was  very  greatly  troubled 
by  the  disappearance  of  Pat  and  Solomon.  By  the 
time  they  reached  Tracadie  it  was  evening,  and  as 
nothing  more  could  be  done  that  night,  Bart  once 
more  took  up  his  quarters  for  the  night  with  the 
priest. 

While  sitting  togetlier  that  evening,  the  conver- 
sation was  very  naturally  drawn  to  the  great  fire, 
of  which  the  priest  had  already  spoken   several 


218 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


if 


times  ;  and  at  Bart's  request  he  now  gave  a  more 
particular  account  of  it. 

"  It  was  in  the  year  1825,"  said  the  priest.  "  Tlie 
summer  had  been  the  hottest  and  the  dryest  ever 
known,  not  only  in  this  province,  but  all  over 
North  America.  There  was  no  rain  for  months. 
The  hay  crop  was  a  total  failure  everywhere,  and 
the  garden  vegetables  all  wilted  and  withered. 
Corn,  turnips,  potatoes,  almost  everything  failed. 
The  roads  were  all  covered  with  fine  dust,  the 
fields  were  all  cracked,  and  the  grass  was  as  if  it 
had  been  scorched.  The  woods  were  dried  and 
parched  in  the  same  way,  th(3  sap  seemed  to  dry 
up  in  the  trees,  and  the  leaves  and  branches  were 
ready  to  flash  into  a  blaze  at  the  slightest  approach 
of  fire. 

"  Fires,  indeed,  were  in  the  woods  in  different 
places  from  midsummer  till  autumn.  These  burned 
steadily,  though  without  making  any  very  great 
progress.  There  were  fires  in  these  woods,  and 
up  at  the  head  of  the  bay,  and  near  the  Nashwaak. 
The  most  extensive  was  one  near  Fredericton. 
There  were  also  fires  in  the  woods  of  Maine. 
And  in  Canada  some  of  them  had  reached  verv 
serious  dimensions.  As  a  general  thing,  none  of 
our  people  thought  anything  of  it.  Fires  are  so 
common  that  they  excite  no  attention,  and  so  it 
was  with  us.  It  was  so  dry  that  there  was  every 
reason  to  expect  them,  and  if  they  were  even 
larger  than  usual,  that  was  no  more  than  might  be 
expected  under  such  unusual  circumstances. 


STORY   OP   THE   GREAT    FIRE. 


219 


«  At  last  the  montli  of  October  came,  and  in  the 
early  part  of  that  month  various  causes  contributed 
to  spread  tlie  fires.  On  tlie  Gth  it  was  noticed 
that  they  had  increased  very  greatly,  and  their 
extent  was  now  far  beyond  anything  that  had  ever 
been  known  before.  Peor)le  wondered  at  this,  but 
thoug-ht  that  before  long  it  must  come  to  an  end. 
Rain  must  come  and  put  a  stop  to  it. 

"  On  the  following  day,  tlie  7tli,  it  was  far  worse. 
All  tliroughthe  preceding  night  the  fires  had  been 
extending  everywhere,  and  when  day  came  it  had 
an  appearance  different  from  anything  ever  known 
before.     The  sky  hud  a  deep  purple  tint,  and  im- 
mense cloufls  of  black  smoke  rolled  over  the  Whole 
heavens.     .There   was  not  a   breath  of  wind,  but 
everything  was  sunk  into  a  calm  so,  deep  and  pro- 
found   that   it  seemed    like  the   death  of  Nature. 
The  heat  Avas  suffocating,  the  air  thick  and  stag- 
nant,    so    that    breathing    was    difKcult.     No    one 
could  put  forth  the  sliglitest  -oxertion.     Everybody 
lay  about  in  a  state  of  utter  lassitude  and  listless- 
ness,  or  tried  in  vain  to  find  some  cool  place  where 
the  heat  might  be  less  oppressive. 

"The  most  wonderful  thing  was  the  effect  of  all 
this  ui)on  the  lower  animals.  The  birds  had  all 
fled.  The  cnttle  in  the  fields  seemed  bewildered 
and  terrified.  They  collected  in  groups,  lowing 
piteously,  and  looking  wildly  around,  eating  noth- 
ing, but  standing  as  though  paralyzed.  The  dogs 
moaned,  and    crouched,  and    wandered    restlessly 


220 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


I 


Mi 


out  of  doors  and  back  again.  But  what  was  yet 
more  astonisliing-  was  the  behavior  of  the  wild 
animals.  Wolves,  and  bears,  and  hares,  and  foxes 
came  from  the  woods  to  the  open  places,  overcome 
with  terror,  and  seeking  refuge  among  the  domes- 
tic  animals. 

"  In  spite  of  all  this  the  people  did  not  show 
much  excitement.  In  the  more  lonely  places  they 
may  have  been  frightened,  but  in  the  settlements 
they  seemed  simply  listless.  No  one  anticipated 
the  terror  that  was  approaching,  or  had  any  idea 
of  the  doom  impending  over  the  whole  country. 
Strangely  enough,  the  instinct  of  the  lower  animals 
was  truer  than  the  reason  of  man.  As  the  fire  was 
not  yet  visible,  the  people  in  the  settlements  made 
no  preparations  against  it,  nor  did  they  even  think 
that  preparations  were  necessary.  They  know,  of 
course,  that  the  heat  and  the  unusual  appearances 
were  produced  by  fires  in  some  place,  but  where 
it  was,  or  how  near  it  might  be,  they  did  not  think. 

"  Evening  came  on,  and  at  fibout  seven  o'clock  a 
brisk  wind  suddenly  sprang  up.  The  sun  set,  and 
the  darkness  was  intense  beyond  all  description. 
And  in  that  darkness  nothing  whatever  was  visible  ; 
there  was  something  terrible  beyond  words  in 
such  deep  gloom ;  but  the  wind  went  on  and  in- 
creased to  a  Avilder  degree,  until  at  last  it  blew 
with  extraordinary  violence.  Now,  through  the 
darkness  a  terrible  sight  became  visible.  All  over 
the  west  and  towards  the  north-west  there  shone  a 


STORY  OP  THE  GREAT  FIRE.  221 

red  glow,  whicli  grew  brigliter  and  brighter,  until 
at  last  tlie  wliole   skies  were   lightened  up  with 
flaming  fires.    The  wind  increased,  coming  from  the 
west,  until  at  lengtli  it  Mew  a  perfect  hurricane  ; 
fiercer,  more  furious,  more  terrii)lo  than  any  in  the' 
memory  of  the  oldest  inlial.itants  here.     Driven  on 
by  this  fierce  tempest,  the  fires  spread  with  incon. 
ceivable  rapidity,  and  all  the  west  became  a  sea  of 
fire,  and   above    the  woods   vast  flames    shot  up 
furiously,  iar  into  the  sky.     There  was  no  darkness 
now.     It  was  driven  away,  and   light  had  come ; 
but    the     light    was    worse    than    tlie    darkness 
had  been. 

"The  hurricane  increased,  and  the  fires  drove 
onward  before  it,  and  the  fierce  flames  towered  far 
up  into   the  sky.     Then  there  came  a  low  moan 
from  afar,  which  increased,  and  strengthened,  and 
deepei-^d,  until  at  last  it  grew  to  a  loud,  appalling 
roar  — a  roar  like  sustained  thunder,  which  still 
grew  louder,  and  deeper,  and   nearer,  and  more 
awful.     lu  the  midst  of  this   came  the  s(mnd  of 
crackling,  like  musketry  volleys,  and  loud,  tremen- 
dous explosions,  like  the  discharge  of  cannon.    And 
all  this  increased  every  nn-nute,  the  fires  sweeping 
onward    more    terribly,   the    roar  of   its   advance 
gathering  in  intensity  and  volume,  until  at  last  the 
vast  sheets  of  flame  seemed  to  rise  ahnost  to  the 
zenith.     Overhead  all   the   black   smoke  Avas  now 
reddened  in  the  glow  of  tlie  fire,  and  there  passed 
away  over  the  sky  a  fierce  torrent,  bearing  with 


222 


FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 


it  innumerable  sparks,  niul  Mazing  twigs,  and 
branches  of  trees,  which  had  been  torn  from  the 
forest  by  the  fire,  and  were  now  hurled  through 
the  air  by  the  hurricane. 

"  Now  there  arose  the  wildest  panic.  All  had 
been  so  sudden  that  there  had  been  no  time  for 
thought  —  but  even  if  there  had  been  time,  no 
thought  could  have  availed.  There  was  only  one 
common  impulse  in  all  living  things,  whether  man 
or  beast,  and  that  was  escape.     One  cry  only  arose 

—  the  cry,  'To  the  river!  To  the  river!'  In 
this  direction  every  one  hurried,  a  confused  crowd, 

—  men,  women,  children,  horses,  cows,  and  dogs, — 
some  carrying  the  old  or  the  sick,  others  assisting 
the  weak;  fathers  carrying  their  children,  moth- 
ers their  infants.  Each  seized  what  was  most 
precious,  and  fled.  All  the  time  there  were  wild 
outcries  —  some  of  fear,  others  of  hope,  others  of 
command,  others  of  despair  from  some  who  had 
been  separated  from  relatives,  and  were  trying  to 
find  them  again.  Then  they  all  hurried  to  the 
river;  and  some  stood  plunged  in  the  water,  others 
sought  boats,  others  rafts,  others  floated  on  logs, 
while  others  sought  the  opposite  shore,  from 
which,  however,  the  fires  that  spread  even  there 
soon  drove  them. 

"  And  now  the  whole  country,  in  all  directions, 

blazed.     The  whole  forest  was    as  dry  as  tinder, 

'and    everywhere    the    floating    sparks    woidd    fall 

upon    the   trees,   and   there    would   kindle    fresh 


STORY   OF   THE   GREAT    FIRE.  223 

flames,  which  would  sweep  away  before  the  hiirri- 
cane  like  those  behind.  It  was  this  that  made  the 
confiagration  so  swift  and  so  universal. 

"The  morning  at  length  came  after  that  night 
of  horror  — the  morning  of  the  8th  of  October; 
and  never  did  human  eye  rest  upon  such  a  scene 
of   desolation.     The  vast  forests,  the  green  mead- 
ows, the  flourishing  villages,  the  pleasant  homes 
which  a  few  hours  before  had  formed  one  of  the 
happiest  countries  in  the  world,  was  now  one  vast 
expanse  of  dust  and  ashes,  out  of  which  lowered 
the  smouldering,  blackened    shafts  of  giant   pine 
trees  that  had  not  been  all  consumed.     The  halfl 
burned    corpses    of    men,    women,   and    children, 
cattle  and  wild  beasts,  strewed  the  forests,  and  in 
the  dried-up    beds  of  brooks  and -rivers  '  lay  the 
blackened   bodies   of  burnt  fishes.     Six  thousand 
square  miles  had  been  suddenly  blasted  by  that 
unparalleled   fire.      And   all    this    ruin   had   been 
wrought  on  that  one  night  of  horror." 

Such  was  the  priest's  narrative  of  one  of  the 
most  terrible  fires  on  record  —  the  great  fire  of 
Miramichi;  a  fire  most  remarkable  for  the  aston- 
ishing rapidity  of  its  course,  and  the  thoroughness 
of  Its  devastation.  For,  apart  from  other  more  im- 
mediate evils,  it  ruined  the  timber  of  all  that  coun- 
try, turned  fertile  districts  into  barren  wastes,  and 
annihilated  in  one  night  all  the  resources  of  a 
great  commerce. 

To   aU  this  Bart  listened  with  deep  attention, 


224 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


m\ 


and  gained  from  it  increased  hope  for  Phil.  For 
now  he  saw  liow  different  was  this  fire  from  the 
one  of  which  he  had  been  hearing,  and  how  dif- 
ferent the  circumstances  were.  Tliose  woods  were 
not  dried  like  tinder,  nor  was  it  possible  for  a  fire 
to  spread  so  fast  but  that  any  living  being  could 
escape  it.  Besides,  the  woods  were  full  of  brooks 
and  streams,  and  all  these  streams  were  full  of 
fisli ;  and  Piiil  had  his  rod  and  lines,  and  was  an 
expert  fisherman.  From  all  these  thoughts  he 
drew  hope  and  confidence. 

He  was  greatly  puzzled,  however,  by  the  dis- 
appearance of  Pat  and  Solomon.  Their  departure 
in  the  woods  had  greatly  perplexed  him,  but  he 
hoped  that  he  would  find  them  on  his  return  to 
Tracadie.  There  were  no  signs  of  them.  The 
night  passed,  but  they  did  not  make  their  appear- 
ance.    Morning  came,  but  brought  them  not. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  think  about  it,  and 
felt  perplexed.  Still  he  had  no  anxiety.  Neither 
Pat  nor  Solomon  was  likely  to  come  to  any 
trouble  in  the  woods,  for  they  were  perfectly  well 
able  to  take  care  of  themselves. 

The  party  was  now  all  broken  up  and  scattered 
—  Phil,  Pat,  Solomon,  and  Bart,  all  in  different 
directions,  and  none  of  them  knowing  where  the 
others  were.  But  Bart's  mind  was  now  intent 
upon  finding  Phil ;  and  so,  after  a  buried  breakfast, 
he  got  into  the  wagon  with  the  priest,  and  they 
both  drove  off  together. 


PHII.    AWAKES.  225 


XVII. 

Phil  awakes.  —  A  morning  Bath  and  a  morning 
Repast. — A  pleasant  Discovery. —  Once  more 
upon  the  3Iove.  —  The  rough,  impenetrable  Woods. 
—  The  River.  —  A  new  Mode  of  Travel.  —  The 
friendly  Log.  —  Fm  afoat,  Tm  afloat.  —  Ar- 
rested. —  The  secret  Place  of  Fire. 

'LL  that  night  Phil  slept  most  soundly  in  the 
little  rocky  chamber  where  he  had  made  his 
bed  ;  and  early  on  the  following  morning 
he  waked  and  crawled  forth.  It  had  been  much 
cooler  inside  that  little  cavern  than  outside,  and 
he  was  very  much  refreshed  ;  but  on  emerging 
into  the  outer  world,  he  was  at  once  sensible  that 
the  heat  of  the  atmosphere  was  most  oppressive. 
The  smoke,  too,  was  thicker  now  than  ever.  Over- 
head it  was  darker,  and  descended  nearer  to  the 
ground;  while  the  smell  of  the  air  was  more  irri- 
tating to  the  throat  and  nostrils.  Everything 
showed  him,  most  plainly,  either  that  the  fires  were 
increasing,  or  were  steadily  drawing  nearer  to 
where  he  was.  In  either  case,  the  prospect  was 
sufficiently  unpleasant  to  make  him  look  forward 
15 


226 


FIRE   TN   THE   WOODS. 


with  uneasiness  to  liis  future ;  for  as  he  could  see 
nothing  at  any  distance  ahead,  and  as  lie  was  still 
in  ignorance  of  the  direction  which  he  ought  to 
take,  he  was  quite  incapable  of  forming  any  def- 
inite plan  of  escape,  and  could  only  {idhere  to  his 
former  plan  of  following  the  course  of  the  river. 

On  finding  out  the  heat  of  the  atmosphere,  his 
first  impulse  was  to  prepare  himself  for  the  toils 
of  the  day  l)y  a  bath,  which  he  ^noceeded  at  once 
to  take.  The  water  was  still  cool ;  and  the  rushing 
torrent,  as  it  passed  over  his  head  and  dashed 
against  his  limbs,  gave  him  a  delicious  sense  of 
enjoyment.  Then  followed  his  breakfast.  The 
fish  which  he  had  saved  for  the  night  before  were 
used  for  this  purpose.  ITe  kindled  a  fire  close  by 
his  rock,  and  cooked  them  upon  the  coals  with  his 
usual  success.  While  eating  his  fish,  he  noticed 
at  a  little  distance  some  shrubbery  that  seemed 
strangely  familiar,  and  suggested  the  idea  of  a 
luxurious  addition  to  his  re))ast.  He  at  once  went 
towards  them,  and  found  that  his  surmise  was  cor- 
rect. They  were  blacklierry  bushes,  and  were 
filled  with  berries,  in  such  numbers  that  in  a  ver}- 
short  time  he  had  picked  as  much  as  a  (piart. 
These  he  caught  in  some  strips  of  bark  folded  so 
as  to  make  a  disli,  and  with  this  addition  to  his 
provisions  he  returne(l  to  his  former  station,  and 
finished  his  breakfast  with  unconnnon  relish  and 
enjoyment. 

After   finishing  his   repast  he  waited  for  some 


-^      I   I  IBV      I   ,"V_¥^    '    ^"'t    ^ 


mf  III  qp  ■>   I    I  I    I   ifl  i:w«fi^ 


A    PLEASANT    DISCOVERY. 


227 


time,  trying  to  tliiiik  iii)un  wliat  iniglit  ])e  his  best 
course  of  action  tliroiigli  tlio  day.  The  more  he 
tried,  howevci',  the  more  unable  he  lound  liimselt' 
to  devise  anything  better  than  that  which  he  had 
been  doing ;  and  so  at  length,  finding  any  further 
thought  useless,  he  determined  to  set  out  on  his 
daily  tramp,  leaving  his  course  to  be  determined 
bv  the  events  of  the  day. 

His  course  was  at  first  precisely  like  what  it 
had  been  on  the  previous  day.  Djirk  pine  trees 
arose  all  about  him,  standing  at  intervals  sufficient- 
ly wide  to  allow  of  easy  progress,  their  innumer- 
able shafts  rising  on  every  side  as  far  as  the  eye 
could  reach.  Tlie  shadow  of  the  forest  beneath 
caught  a  peculiar  leaden  tinge  from  the  smoke  that 
now  surrounded  evei'ything,  and  in  some  places 
was  so  dark  that  it  seemed  as  though  the  fire 
might  be  smouldering  there.  There  was  no  un- 
derbrush ol"  any  consequence,  so  Wiat  IMiil  could 
go  on  whatever  course  he  pleased  ;  and  as  the 
ground  was  firm  and  hard,  his  ])rogress  was  made 
without  undue  ellort.  Thus  he  was  able  to  keep 
the  river  in  sight,  and  follow  its  course  ibr  a  long 
distance. 

As  he  went  on  the  brook  grew  gradually  larger, 
and  at  length  ran  into  a  stream  vci-y  much  larger 
than  itself,  large  enough,  in  i'act,  to  deserve  the 
name  of  river.  I'his  ]'hil  saw  with  delight;  for 
he  saw  in  this  the  hope  of  encountering  the  haunts 
of  men.     As    he    looked  down   the  course   of  this 


a 


228 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


i  r 


river,  which  here  afforded  a  much  wider  opening 
in  the  forest  tlian  he  had  yet  seen,  he  was  struck 
by  the  density  of  the  smoke  clouds,  and  the  pecu- 
liar character  of  the  atmosphere.  The  sight  in- 
spired him  with  far  stronger  I'ears  than  any  which 
he  had  hitherto  known.  Thus  far  he  had  consid- 
ered tlie  fire  as  arising  from  some  one  spot,  and 
liad  thought  of  being  able  to  evade  it,  even  if  he 
should  reach  the  place  where  it  might  be  burning; 
but  now  he  began  to  feel  as  though  the  tires  were 
all  around  him,  rolling  forward  from  every  side 
towards  him,  and  sending  an  advance  march  of 
smoke  to  bewilder  him  and  lead  him  astray.  This 
thought  gave  him  a  momentary  pang,  and  a  transi- 
tory feeling  of  despair  crossed  his  mind.  But  this 
weakness  was  only  short-lived.  It  soon  passed, 
and  his  buoyancy  of  soul  and  sanguine  tempera- 
ment reasserted  themselves. 

At  length,  as  he  went  along  by  the  river  side, 
he  noticed,  to  his  deep  regret,  that  the  pine  woods 
ended,  and  were  succeeded  by  a  forest  like  that 
which  he  had  traversed  on  the  first  day  of  his  wan- 
dering. What  was  worse,  it  could  not  be  avoided. 
He  could  not  walk  along  the  river  bank,  for  it  was 
lined  with  trees  and  shrubbery.  He  could  not 
walk  in  its  bed,  for  it  was  too  deep.  There  was 
therefore  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  make  his  way 
through  the  woods  the  best  way  that  he  could. 

On  entering  these  woods,  the  change  was  un- 
pleasant  in    the  extreme.     It  was  necessary   for 


IMPENETRABLE   WOODS. 


oon 


him  to  keep  near  the  river,  and  in  order  to  do  this 
he  had  to  encounter  witlioiit  shrinking  all  the 
obstacles  that  lay  in  his  way.  He  did  not  dare 
now  to  attempt  to  go  round  any  of  them,  or  to 
make  short  cuts,  for  he  was  afraid  that  if  he  got 
out  of  sight  of  the  water  once,  he  would  never  be 
able  to  find  it  again  ;  and,  therefore,  at  all  hazards, 
and  at  every  cost,  he  determined  to  keep  it  within 
sight. 

These  new  efforts  soon  exhausted  him,  and  he  was 
forced  to  sit  down  and  try  to  recover  himself.  As  he 
sat  there  gasping,  there  seemed  to  bo  a  more  intense 
warmth  in  the  air,  a  dry,  torrid  heat,  a  suffocating 
closeness,  which  was  far  worse  than  it  had  been 
yet.  He  felt  that  under  these  circumstances  his 
progress  would  be  small  indeed,  tie  had  only 
one  thought  now,  and  that  was,  to  recover  from 
his  heat  and  exhaustion;  and  to  do  this  he  knew 
of  only  one  thing,  which  was  —  a  plunge  in  the 
water. 

Tearing  off  his  clothes  now,  he  flung  himself  in 
the  water,  and  felt  once  more  its  reviving  in- 
fluence. At  this  moment  a  new  idea  occurred  to 
him,  which  filled  him  again  with  hope.  It  was, 
that  he  should  remain  in  the  river,  and  go  on 
as  he  was,  carrying  his  clothes  with  him.  At  this 
rate  his  progress  would  be  far  more  r,\\)'u\  than  it 
had  just  been;  and  he  would  be  far  less  liable  to 
feel  fatigue.  Acting  upon  this  suggi^stion,  he 
rolled   his  clothes   up   into  as  small  a  bundle  as 


230 


FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


I« 


possildo,  Itiit  k('])t  Ills  hoots  on  liis  foot,  so  as  to 
walk  without  (hlficiilty  over  the  sliarp  sticks  or 
stones  that  lie  mig*ht  eneonnter;  and  now,  slinging 
his  handle  hehind  his  hack,  he  went  on,  walking 
near  one  of  the  hanks,  in  water  that  was  ahout  up 
to  his  waist.  Ilis  progress  was  certainly  not  very 
fast;  hut  the  plan  was  highly  satisfactory,  since 
he  no  longer  suffered  so  much  from  that  intense 
exhaustion  to  which  he  had  been  svd)ject  while 
forcing  his  way  through  the  tangled  hrushwood. 
But  at  length  he  found  himself  assailed  hy  myriads 
of  mosquitos,  and  this  infliction  became  so  in- 
tolerable that  he  had  to  go  into  the  deeper  water 
of  the  mid-chann(d.  Here,  however,  his  progress 
was  slow,  and  carrying  his  bundle  was  a  great 
trouble. 

Suddenly  he  saw  a  log  lying  near  the  shore, 
cntanghnl  among  the  brushwood.  It  was  of  cedar, 
and  looked  as  though  it  had  been  cut  for  a  tele- 
graph pole.  This  at  once  offered  him  an  easy  and 
agreeable  mode  of  progress,  which  was  in  every 
possible  way  su])erior  to  anything  that  he  had  yet 
tried.  Walking  towards  it,  he  drew  it  out,  and 
then  placing  it  before  him  he  bound  his  bundle 
upon  it.  Pie  now  puslied  it  in  front  of  him,  down 
the  stream,  and  clinging  to  it,  he  struck  out  after 
it,  sometimes  swimming,  sometimes  walking.  So 
buoyant  was  the  log  that  it  easily  sustained  his 
weight ;  and  the  ('om))lete  succi^ss  of  this  con- 
trivance made  Phil  determine  to  make  the  rest  of 


THE   FRIENDLY   LOG. 


231 


his  journey  in  tliis  way.     So  ho  once  more  stopped, 
and    taking  off  his  boots,   bound   them  upon  the 
log  also.     He  was  now  divested  of  all  his  clothing, 
keeping  on   only  his  hat,  which  was  useful    both 
against  the  heat  and  the  flies;  and  thus  prepared, 
he  once  more  puslied  his  log  before  him,  and  seek- 
ing the  centre  of  the  stream,  began  to  move  slow- 
ly down.     The  water  here  was  now  over  his  head  ; 
and  the  current  was  running  at  the  rate  of  about 
three  miles  an  hour.     A  very  sh"ght  effort  on  his 
part  served  to  increase  his  motion  to  a  rate  wliich 
was    faster    tlian    any    which    he    had    been    able 
to  make  yet;  and   he  found  himself  going  onward 
in  a  way  in  which  he  was  able  at  once  to  secure 
both  speed  and  coolness. 

The  musquitos  were  troublesome  from  time  to 
time,  but  not  continuously  ;  and  these  he  was  able 
to  evade  by  plunging  his  head  under,  hat  and  all, 
after  which  i)lunge  the  drip  of  the  water  from  his 
hat  about  his  head  seemed  both  to  cool  him  and  to 
repel  his  assailants. 

He  now  floated  along,  and  was  thus  borne  on- 
ward by  the  river,  with  many  a  turn  and  winding, 
ann'dst  the  forest.  On  either  side  arose  the  trees, 
—  dark,  solemn,  and  silent,  for  not  a  sound  of  any 
kind  could  be  heard.  TUo  birds  which  usually 
made  the  forest  vocal  with  their  melody  had  fled 
to  other  j)laces.  I  Hiat  torrid  and  smoky  atmos- 
phere there  was  no  place  for  these  children  of 
song.     Phil,  as  he  floated  in  the  cool  current  of 


232 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


Bii 


11 


the  river,  felt  himself  withdrawn  completely  from 
the  heat  and  the  smoke ;  but  as  he  looked  up  he 
saw  enough  to  make  him  feel  grateful  that  he  was 
where  he  was  —  that  he  had  found  a  stream  deep 
enough  to  sustain  him  in  its  waters,  and  swift 
enough  to  carry  him  onward  without  any  severe 
exertion  on  his  part.  The  smoke  lowered  dark- 
ly and  menacingly  overhead,  and  before  him, 
where  the  river  ran,  it  seemed  accumulated  in 
gloomier  and  denser  masses.  The  air  seemed 
even  hotter,  and  as  he  at  times  plunged  his  head 
under  the  waters,  he  rejoiced  to  think  that  he  had 
so  near  him  such  a  perpetual  remedy  for  heat  and 
exhaustion. 

He  had  now  been  in  tlie  stream  for  some  hours, 
when  at  length  he  noticed  a  rising  ground  before 
him.  It  was  a  hill  of  no  very  great  height, 
rounded  and  covered  with  trees  ;  but  behind  this 
there  seemed  to  be  an  agitation  among  the  smoke 
clouds,  as  though  there  was  concealed  there  the 
unseen  cause  of  all  tliese  stifling  vapors  that  filled 
the  skies.  This  place  Phil  began  to  watch  with 
deep  interest  and  curiosity.  He  did  not  feel  fear, 
for  in  his  present  position  he  did  not  anticipate 
any  danger;  but  he  expected  that  at  this  place  he 
would  reach  what  might  be  the  climax  of  his 
adventures.  The  only  real  fear  that  he  had  was, 
not  from  fire,  but  from  the  water  itself.  He  was 
a})prehensive  that  he  might  come  to  a  cataract,  or 
to  rapids.     This   danger   certainly  did   not  seem 


APPROACH   TO    THE    HILL.  233 

very  imminent,  or  very  probablo,  for  tlie  country 
was  generally  of  too  level  a  character  to  allow  of 
waterfalls  ;  but  Phil  thought  of  this  as  his  only 
possible  danger,  and  was  consequently  always  on 
the  lookout.  Now,  therefore,  as  he  saw  this  ac- 
cumulation of  clouds,  and  the  agitation  that  pre- 
vailed there,  he  did  not  perceive  anything  that 
could  immediately  affect  him,  and  so  he  felt  no 
terror. 

The  river  had  a  winding  course  ;  and  though  it 
drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  this  hill,  yet  it  ap- 
proached it  slowly,  and  by  gradual  advances.  At 
length,  on  taking  a  turn  round  one  of  its  bends, 
Phil  could  see  that  the  hill  was  on  the  left  bank, 
and  that  he  would  soon  reach  it,  and  pass  round  it 
in  the  next  turn  of  the  stream.  Full  of  curiosity, 
he  now  drifted  along,  and  waited  for  the  next  pros- 
pect that  would  be  opened  up  behind  the  hill. 

Nearer  and  nearer  Phil  ap])roached,  and  stronger 
and  stronger  did  his  excited  curiosity  grow.  The 
smoke,  as  he  drew  closer,  was  more  distinctly 
revealed,  rising  into  the  skies  in  dark,  rolling 
masses,  as  though  sent  uj)  by  some  mighty 
power  beneath.  Nearer  and  nearer  he  came,  and 
at  length  became  aware  of  short,  dull  (lashes  of 
light,  which,  brightening  for  a  moment,  were  soon 
obscured.  It  did  not  surprise  him,  for  this  was  in 
some  degree  what  he  was  expecting.  Where 
there  is  smoke  there  must  be  fire  ;  and  if  now  the 
flames  flashed  forth,  it  merely  proved  that  he  was 


234 


FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


at  last  drawiiii:;  iioar  to  that  fire  whoso  sip^ns  had 
tilled  the  air  for  many  days.  And  what  should  he 
see?  What  was  it  that  could  produce  tliis  veil  of 
smoke  that  obscured  the  universal  sky?  Could  it 
be  iieor  the  haunts  of  men,  and  was  it  merely  the 
commonplace  [)rocess  of  clearing  lan<l  ?  No;  he 
felt  that  it  could  not  be  anything  so  ordinary  as 
this.  The  signs  whi(;h  he  had  seen  and  felt  for 
days  a«)se  from  something  moi'o  than  the  clearing 
of  fields  for  cultivation.  It  was  rather  the  march 
of  a  mighty  conflagration  through  the  forest,  which 
devour(3d  all  things  in  its  path,  swept  away  the 
verdant  trees,  blackened  and  devastated  the  rich 
forest  foliage,  and  sent  afar  in  all  directions  the 
breath  of  its  devastating  mouth. 

With  these  thoughts  Phil  drifted  on,  awaiting 
the  disclosure  of  the  great  fire,  and  at  length 
reached  the  hill.  Past  this  he  was  slowly  borne 
by  the  current  which  encircled  it,  and  then,  com- 
pleting the  circuit,  swe])t  onward  upon  its  course. 

Here,  as  Phil  fioated  looking  forward,  the  whole 
scene  burst  at  once  upon  his  sight.  No  obstacle 
any  longer  rose  between  him  and  the  fire  ;  he 
saw  it  in  its  reality  —  living  and  breathing  before 
his  eyes. 

The  river  went  on  for  about  a  half  mile,  and 
then  took  another  turn.  Half  way  between  this 
hill  and  the  next  bend  rose  the  flames  of  a  vast 
conflagration,  devouring  the  forest  far  and  wide, 
extending  on  both  sides  of  the  river  to  the  right 


THE   SECRET   PLACE   OF    FIRE.  235 

and  to  the  left.  From  Pliil's  position  lie  could  not 
command  any  extensive  view  on  either  side,  and, 
indeed,  the  smoke  would  have  i)revented  that 
had  he  even  been  more  elevated;  hut  tlie  scene 
before  him  was  enough  to  convince  him  of  the 
magnitude  of  the  fire.  Immediately  in  .front,  be- 
ginning from  that  point,  lying  midway  between 
him  and  the  next  bend,  the  fires  began,  and 
extended  till  the  river  turned  again  upon  its  next 
circuit.  On  both  sides  of  the  stream  the  fires 
blazed  up,  and  continued  far  away,  reddening  in 
the  glow  of  a  mighty  confiagration.  In  the  midst 
of  this  arose  innumerable  trees,  standing  up, 
black,  blighted,  and  withered  in  the  red  fire; 
while  over  them  the  smoke  leaped  and  rolled  as 
it  bounded  upward.  Nearer,  the  fires  were 
brighter,  for  here  they  were  incessantly  advan- 
cing to  attack  new  trees;  and  the  flames  couhl  be 
seen  darting,  like  lightning,  upward  from  twig  to 
twig,  and  from  bough  to  bough,  until  tree  after 
tree  was  enveloped  in  the  raging  fire.  These 
were  the  cause  of  those  Hashes  which  he  liad 
noticed  further  up  the  stream,  and  indicated  the 
advance  of  the  fire  in  this  direction.  The  fore- 
ground was  thus  most  brilliant,  most  active,  and 
most  thrilHng;  but  the  background,  with  its  in- 
numerable array  of  blackened  trunks  rising  from 
the  midst  of  that  dull,  angry  fire  glow,  and  sur- 
rounded by  the  dark  smoke  clouds,  formed  a  scene 
that  was  yet  more  terrible. 


236 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


XVIII. 


1,1 

I 


Hie  Confagration.  —  A  dread  Alternative.  —  For- 
ward or  backward.  —  A  hold  Decision. —  The 
Hood.  — A  terrible  Venture.—  The  red  Place  of 
Flame.— The  Place  of  the  fery  Glow.  —  The  top- 
pling Tree.  — A  Struggle  for  Life.— The  Jiery 
Atniosjjhere.  —  The  lad  supreme  Moment. 

»S  this  sight  thus  came  upon  his  view,  Phil 
drove  his  float  towards  the  shore  on  the 
loft,  until  Ins  feet  touched  bottom  ;  and 
standing  here  he  looked  down  the  iver  upon  the 
conflagration.  Away  before  him  stretched  that 
vista  of  fire,  the  patliway  before  him  led  tln^ough 
an  avenue  of  flame,  the  burning  forest  glowed  on 
either  side,  while  overhead  the  vast  volumes  of 
smoke  rolled  along,  and  around  him  fell  showers 
of  ashes.  There  before  him  through  that  scene 
of  terror  lay  his  pathway ;  the  way  which  he 
thought  was  leading  him  to  safety  had  brought 
him  here;  the  river,  to  which  he  had  intrusted 
himself,  had  borne  him  along  to  this  ;  and  at  the 
very  moment  when  his  hopes  had  been  most  ex- 
cited, they  were  dashed  at  once  to  the  ground. 


BACKWARD  OR  FORWARD.  237 

And  wliat  now? 

What  sliould  lie  do? 

Could  ho  go  buck  ? 

Go  back?  No;  that  was  a  simple  impossibility. 
How  should  he  go  back  ?  Not  through  the  woods, 
for  he  could  make  but  small  adv^ance  through  the 
dense  forest  that  now  surrounded  him;  not  up  the 
stream,  for  how  could  his  strength  bear  him  on 
against  this  current?  He  would  have  to  wander 
for  days  before  he  could  reach  the  place  which  he 
had  left  that  morning  ;  and  of  what  avail  would  it 
be  if  he  did  reach  it?  What  would  he  do?  Where 
could  he  go  ?  No  ;  to  go  back  was  not  to  be 
thought  of. 

He  saw  plainly  that  he  had  now  to  make  choice 
from  one  of  two  alternatives. 

One  was  to  remain  here  and  wait^  for  the  fires  to 
subside. 

The  other  was  to  go  forward. 

Now,  the  idea  of  waiting  here  was  intoleral)le. 
To  wait  here  idle,  or,  perhaps,  slowly  retreating 
before  the  advancing  fires,  enduring  day  after  day 
the  hunger,  the  fatigue,  and  the  misery  of  such  a 
situation,  seemed  the  worst  fate  conceivable. 
Where  could  he  sleep  at  night  ?  How  could  he 
endure  living  in  the  water  by  day  ?  Besides,  the 
fire  was  evidently  advancing  in  a  direction  which 
led  it  up  stream ;  so  that  he  woidd  merely  be 
driven  before  it  back  to  his  old  quarters,  to  perish 
miserably.     To   be  driven    back  before  the  fires 


238 


PTRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


would  bo  a  liup^oring  doatli.  It  was  not  to  bo 
tli(>u<;-lit  of,  so  long  as  any  other  course  was  pos- 
sible. 

What,  then,  was  tlio  other  course  ? 

T\\v  other  course  was — to  go  forward. 

To  go  iorward  ! 

This  was  what  Phil  longed  to  do,  with  longing 
unspeakMble.  To  go  iorwiird  would  lead  him 
farther  down  the  river.  To  go  forward  would 
carry  him  beyond  the  fires.  Once  lev  him  pass 
the  place  where  the  fire  raged,  and  then  he  would 
be  on  the  other  side  of  it ;  out  of  its  hot  breath  ; 
away  from  its  stifling  smoke.  Could  he  but  once 
make  that  passage,  all  would  be  well.  To  him  it 
seemed  as  though  on  the  other  side  of  those  fires 
there  lay  the  abodes  of  men,  and  o])en  lands,  and 
pure  air,  and  help,  and  liberty,  and  life.  It  was 
there  that  he  longed  to  go. 

But  between  him  and  what  be  fancied  to  lie  be- 
yond, there  lay  a  barrier,  terrific,  tremendous, 
whose  fullest  horrors  were  unknown  ;  a  barrier 
that  seemed  impassable  —  irremovable.  How 
could  he  hope  to  overcome  it? 

Under  any  other  circumstances,  tlie  idea  of  pass- 
ing that  barrier  could  not,  of  course,  be  enter- 
tained. But  there  was  one  thing  in  Phil's  situa- 
tion which  made  him  think  that  the  deed  might  be 
done  ;  that  it  was  not  impossible,  or  even  difficult. 
This  one  thing  that  gave  hope  was  the  river.  Its 
stream  might  still  bear  him  on  its  bosom,  amidst 


A    DRKAD    AI/IKUNATIVK.  2.'>9 

those  fires  ;  l»o  uu^hi  find  protection  in  its  niniiino- 
waters.  He  eoukl  keep  cool  amid  tiiat  fervent 
heat;  and  as  tlie  stream  would  itself  bear  him  on, 
he  would  not  need  to  make  any  elVorts  excej)t 
those  which  served  to  guide  him  in  a  right 
course. 

As  he  thought  of  this,  and  of  the  possibility  of 
making  his  passage,  he  felt  eager  to  go,  hut  was 
restrained  l»v  other  thougiits. 

ITow  far  might  those  fires  extend?  Uow  long 
could  he  endure  the  presence  of  those  llaniing 
woods,  even  in  the  waters  of  the  I'iver?  Could 
he  breathe?  Would  not  the  intense  heat  make; 
breathing  impossible?  Tliat  burning  district  might 
extend  for  many  and  niitny  a  mile  ;  and  if  he  once 
ventured  there,  how  would  he  ever  get  out  of  it? 
Or  again,  might  not  that  f)ossible  obstacle  in  tlie 
river  waters,  which  he  had  di-eaded,  be  found  down 
there  amid  the  burning  Ibrests?  And  if  so,  what 
a  terrible  fate  would  be  his  !  —  to  be  arrested  amid 
raging  fires  by  a  cataract  —  unable  to  advance, 
unable  to  retreat,  unable  to  go  ashore;!  If  he 
could  only  form  some  idea  as  to  the  ])ossible  ex- 
tent of  the  fire, —  if  he  could  only  see  beyond  that 
next  turn  in  the  river,  and  find  out  how  far  those 
fiery  shores  ran  on,  —  then  he  might  know  whether 
there  was  any  ho[)e.  I^ut  this  was  impossible. 
The  land  before  his  eyes  was  a  land  of  fire  ;  its 
trees  blackened  by  the  fire,  or  still  glowing  red  as 
they  quivered  under  its  attack;  and  there  was  no 


240 


FTKE    IN    THE   WOODS. 


way  by  wliicli  he  might  know  anything  more  than 
tliis. 

At  last  tliero  canio  a  thought  whicii  gave  him 
groat  oncouragomont.  Ilu  tlioiight  that  the  lire 
in  its  march  must  exliaust  itsoU"  aftor  a  certain 
time,  and  that  after  the  trees  were  actually  con- 
sumed there  must  be  a  (le})arture  of  the  heat.  It 
was  in  the  advanced  pai't  of  its  march  that  it 
maintainiMl  this  furnace  glow ;  at  a  certain  dis 
tance  behind,  the  heat  might  not  be  intolerable. 
If,  therefore,  he  could  traA-erse  the  flames  and  the 
fire  that  he  saw  belbrc;  him,  Ik^  might  find  the  coun- 
try beyond  not  much  worse  than  it  was  here. 

This  thought,  this  hope,  decided  him.  lie  de- 
termine(l  to  stake  everything  upon  this,  and  ven- 
ture upon  that  fiery  piith. 

But  before  he  attempted  it  ho  made  the  only 
preparation  jxtssible.  Wiiat  he  dreaded  most  was 
the  scorching  glow  of  those  flames  ;  and  as  he  did 
not  know  to  what  extent  they  might  afreet  him,  he 
wished  above  all  things  to  guard  his  head  against 
that  dangcM'. 

Ho  therefore  unbound  his  clothes  from  the  log, 
and  took  his  coat  out,  alter  which  he  again  bound 
the  remainder  of  the  clothes  to  the  place  where 
they  had  been.  His  coat  he  dipped  in  the  river 
until  it  was  saturatecl  ^vith  the  water,  and  then 
carefully  adjusted  it  over  his  head,  tying  the 
hIoovos  under  his  ciiin  so  that  it  served  tlu^  pur- 
pose of  a  hood.     In  this  way  he  hoped  to  have  a 


A   TERRIBLE   VEXTUnE.  241 

protection  from  the  lioat  of  the  burning  forest, 
while  his  eyes  would  he  shaded  from  the  dazzling; 
and  blindino;  j^lare,  and  would  he  able  to  watch 
without  interru[)tion  or  impediment  the  course  of 
the  river. 

With  these  simple  preparatitms  Phil  breathed  a 
short  prayer,  eonnniltinji,-  himself  to  the  cart^  of 
God,  and  then  sunHnonin«;-  up  all  his  eoura^H*,  he 
directed  his  float  down  the  stream  onc(^  more,  and 
then  boldly  launching;  forth,  he  dared  the  ten-ible 
journey.  Once  more  the  waters  received  him  to 
their  embrace  ;  once  more  the  river  enfold(Ml  him, 
and  bore  him  g;ently  onward  ;  once  more  he  swept 
past  the  shores,  and  saw  them  recede  on  either 
side.  The  current  bore  him  on.  The  fire  drew 
near. 

The  fire  drew  near  —  and  nearer.  ITe  felt  its 
hot  breath,  growings  hotter  upon  lu's  brow  —  nearer 
yet  —  and  then,  at  leng;th,  the  flames  dashed  for- 
ward, the  green  trees  passed  from  his  line  of 
vision,  and  his  eyes  saw  nothing  but  one  vast  and 
lar-reaching  glare. 

lie  plunged  his  head  beneath  the  water,  and 
held  it  under  as  long  as  he  could.  Wh(>n  he 
raised  it  again  he  found  himsidf  fartluM*  on  in  the 
midst  of  the  flann'ng  trees.  The  heat  of  the  air  was 
intense,  yet  not  so  much  so  as  he  had  feared.  TTis 
dripping  coat  hung  round  his  head,  protecting  him. 
His  ccmrse  was  true,  for  looking  forward  he  saw 
that  ho  was  still  in  the  very  middle  of  the  stream. 
16 


242 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


One  look  was  sufficient,  and  tlien,  desiring  to  pre- 
pare liimselfas  nincli  as  possible  for  the  worst  that 
the  fire  might  bring  against  him,  he  once  more 
plunged   his  head  under. 

When  he  next  raised  his  head,  he  found  the 
scene  somewhat  clianged.  The  dazzling  flash  of 
leaping^  u])-springing  flames  had  i)assed  away.  He 
had  moved  past  the  advanced  line  of  the  fire 
where  the  flames  were  assailing  the  light  twigs 
and  foliage  of  the  trees,  and  had  come  to  that  inner 
})orti()n  where  the  trees  were  standing  bare  of 
everything  that  the  flame  could  destroy  ;  skeletons 
—  glowing  red  in  the  embrace  of  consuming  fire. 
The  glow  was  all  around  —  on  the  ground,  on  the 
trees  —  and  the  emanation  of  heat  was  far  more 
intense.  The  air  was  now  like  that  of  a  room 
heated  to  an  intense  degree ;  yet,  to  his  immense 
relief,  it  was  not  worse  than  he  had  known  air 
to  be  before  ;  and  to  him  it  seemed  like  the  atmos- 
])here  of  a  room  overheated  on  some  winter  day. 
He  could  breathe  without  diflicidty,  and  thanks  to 
his  extemporized  liood,  and  his  plunges  under 
water,  he  did  not  feel  that  scorching  glow  of  the 
hot  fires  that  he  might  otherwise  have  felt.  Well 
was  it  for  him  that  he  was  spared  the  necessity  of 
exertion.  In  that  atmos])here  any  exertion  would 
have  overcome  him  in  a  very  short  time.  As  it 
was  he  had  only  to  cling  to  his  float,  steer  it 
straight,  and  I'rom  time  to  time  plunge  his  head 
under  water. 


'r 


A   SEVERP]    TRIAL.  243 

In  this  way  he  was  l)orne  steadily  on,  niul  suc- 
ceeded ill  preserving  himself  trom  destruction 
during-  tiiat  first  entrance  intotiie  aAcnue  of  Maine. 
He  was  now  in  tiie  avenue  of  fire,  and  over  tiiis 
the  Hood  ]>ore  him,  until  at  leno-th  he  reached  that 
bend  on  the  river  which  he  had  seen  before  start- 
ing- upon  this  last  journey. 

The  river  turned  to  the  right,  and  swept  away 
for  about  as  great  a  distance  as  lay  between  this 
bend  ami  the  last  one.  As  Phil  looked  at  it  in 
eager  and  anxious  scrutiny,  he  saw  to  his  dismay 
that  the  fire  glow  covered  all  the  land  before  him, 
and  on  either  side.  He  had  been  too  sanguine, 
and  had  not  made  suflicient  allowance  for  the 
tenacity  of  the  fire  where  it  once  has  fixed  its 
grasp.  There  rose  the  trees  —  tlje  skcdetons  — 
red  -glowing  in  a  fervid  glow;  and  the  air  was 
hotter  here  —  more  torrid  —  more  stagnant. 

rier(»,  then,  Phil  found  a  severer  trial  than  any 
which  he  had  yet  experienced:  and  the  sight  of 
these  new  regions,  all  glowing  in  the  wide-spread 
conflagration,  showing  fiir  and  wide  the  witliering 
signs  of  fiery  devastation,  filled  liim  with  awe  and 
n})i)rehensi(,n.  'fliere  was  nothing,  however,  whi(di 
he  could  do.  Ibi  could  only  do  as  la^  had  been 
doing,  and  draw  his  hood  over  his  face  as  far  as 
iie  C(»ul(|  without  obstructing  the  view,  and  guide 
himself  in  the  right  coui'se,  and  occasio'nally 
[)lunge  beneath  the  waters  so  as  to  maintain  the 
protection  that  was  afforded  by  the  moist uie  and 
the  sheltering  hood. 


244 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


ia\ 


I 


Tlie  time  seemed  long  as  he  thus  drifted  on ;  but 
at  length,  to  his  great  joy,  he  reached  the  next 
bend  in  the  river,  and  began  slowly  to  pass 
around  it. 

But  the  joy  which  he  had  felt  at  reaching  this 
place  soon  passed  away,  when,  on  turning  the  |)oint 
and  entering  upon  the  new  course  of  the  river,  he 
beheld  i)efore  him  an  unchanged  scene  oi  devasta- 
tion. There,  as  before,  the  glowing  lire  appeared  on 
the  ground  below  and  in  the  trees  above ;  the  lat- 
ter rising  all  red  in  the  fire,  and  crumbling  slowly 
bencidh  its  touch.  One  difference  there  was;  and 
that  was,  that  in  this  new  scene  the  conflagration 
seemed  to  be  farther  advanced  ;  giant  branches 
fell  to  the  ground  ;  tall  trees  top}>led  over ;  and 
the  silence  that  had  reigned  was  now  broken  by 
the  thunder  of  those  fidling  masses. 

The  air  here  was  also  hotter;  for  as  the  fire  had 
been  burning  longer,  so  everything  was  aflected 
by  its  long  intensity.  Now  it  was  that  Phil  first 
began  to  liud  something  a])])roximating  to  what 
he  had  dreaded  —  a  heat  which  made  breathing 
dillicult,  and  made  the  air  like  that  at  the  mouth 
of  a  furnace. 

Through  this  he  drifted  on  as  before.  ITis  soul 
already  beg;ui  to  yield  to  des])ondency  ;  while  hope 
grew  fainter,  and  a  diirk  dismay  gradually  took 
possession  of  his  heart.  ITow  could  it  end? 
Would  it  ever  end?  Were  there  any  linn'ts  to  the 
burning  woods  ?    Must  he  thus  go  drifting  on,  and 


The  Torri.iNG   Trkk.     Page  245. 


'.  s 


11 

1 1 

!'  i 


i| 


. 


THE    FIERY^    ATMOSPHERE.  245 

find  that  every  new  scene,  as  it  opened  np,  was 
worse  tlian  its  predecessor? 

So  lie  drifted  on. 

As  he  thus  went  on,  he  suddenly  saw  immedi. 
ately  before  him,  on  the  edge  of  the  bank,  a  tree 
which  was  slanting  over  the  river,  and  seemed  to 
him  to  be  swaying,  or  toppling  slowly  over.  It 
had  been  assailed  most  fiercely  by  the  flames.  Its 
trunk  and  branches  were  all  glowing  red,  while 
the  fire  seemed  to  have  burned  into  the  ground, 
and  consumed  those  roots  which  had  thus  far  held 
it  in  its  place.  The  slight  movement  had  arrested 
Phil,  and  instinctively  he  turned  his  course  towards 
the  opposite  shore.  The  tree  was  tall,  but  whether 
it  could  reach  across  the  river,  he  could  not  tell. 
It  seemed  to  be  falling,  and  if  it  did,  it  w^ould  fall 
across  the  stream.  Thus  Phil,  by  a  blind  instinct, 
shifted  his  course  slightly. 

The  tree  slowly  tilted  over.  It  descended  far- 
ther and  farther.  Phil  at  that  same  moment  was 
being  borne  on  by  the  current.  The  danger  was 
innninent.  The  tree  would  fall  upon  him.  With 
a  frantic  effort  he  threw  himself  nearer  to  the 
shore,  and  as  he  did  so,  the  tree  descended.  Phil 
let  go  the  log,  and  swam  towards  the  shore.  There 
was  a  rush,  and  a  sweep  through  the  air;  a  rat- 
tling, crashing  sound,  followed  by  a  hiss,  as  the  red- 
hot  mass  touched  the  water;  there  was  the  shower 
of  a  million  sparks,  and  then  all  was  still. 

Phil   felt   every  fibre    of  his  frame  tingle  with 


2IG 


Fir!I':    IX    TIIK   WOODS. 


liorror,  mikI  tlirill  with  a  s(Miso  of  desoenflinp;  rnin. 
But  tlio  monuMit  passc(l.  His  i'ect  toiiclRMl  bot- 
tom. II(!  turned  and  lookcnl  around.  Tliore,  about 
three  yards  IVoui  liiiii,  lay  tlie  tree,  its  roots  still  on 
tlic  other  bank,  and  its  top  buried  beneath  tlio 
water.  With  a  wild,  des])airing'  glance  Phil  looked 
for  his  float.  p]ven  as  he  looked,  he  saw  it  slowly 
emerge  from  the  water,  several  yards  below  where 
the  tree  lay.  For  the  tree  in  its  descent  had  sti'uck 
it,  and  dashed  it  to  tlie  bottom  of  the  river ;  but 
fortunately  it  had  become  disentangled,  and  the 
current  had  freed  it  from  the  tree,  and  there  it 
floated,  ready  once  more  to  assist  him. 

Phil  swam  down  the  stream  towards  it,  and  al- 
most fainting  w'lih  the  fatigue  of  this  exertion,  he 
clung  to  it  motionless,  panting  heavily,  and  now 
scarcely  able  even  to  guide  himself  aright. 


STILL   ADIilFT. 


247 


XIX. 

The  black  Pla  c  of  Desolation.  ~  Blue  SI,-;/.  —  Open 
lleavow.  —  The  Glorij  of  the  Sunshine.  —  Green 
Hills.  —  Th    oj}en  Sea    once    more.  —  yllon(/  the 

Eoad.  —  A  stranyc,  a  very  strawje  F)icounter. 

The  JVanderintj  Lejjer.  -    Naaman  the  Syrian. 

Ci^ANTING  heavily,  and  almost  fiiinfino.  with 
jr*|  exhaustion,  Phil  dril'ted  on,  c'Iin,«iino-  with  a 
%S^  convulsive  grasp  to  his  lo,u,.and  seiiive  con- 
scious of  his  surroundings.  It  was  the  current 
that  now  guided  him,  lor  he  lor  some  time  Avas  in- 
capable of  making  any  ellbrt  to  guide  iiimself. 
Several  times  he  instinctively  tiirust  his  head 
under  the  water;  and  each  time,  though  this  did 
not  ease  his  breathing,  it  at  least  caused  relief  by 
the  grateful  coolness  and  the  drij»  of  the  water 
over  his  face.  Drifting  on  in  tiiis  way,  he  remained 
^^T  some  time  without  noti(;ing  the  shoivs  on 
either  side,  too  nnich  taken  u|>  with  his  own  sensa- 
tions to  regard  any  external  things.  Ib^  had  a 
general  idea  that  the  lires  were  all  around  him 
still;  but  he  no  longer  sought  with  his  former 
eager  scrutiny  to  hnd  some  signs  lav., ruble  t,,  Ui^ 
own  hopes. 


2i8 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


I   '  I 


I     I 


But  at  length  lie  regained  his  breath,  and  began 
onee  more  to  look  around.  The  first  thing  that 
he  noticed  was,  that  the  heat  had  very  materially 
lessened.  The  next  thing  \vas,  that  the  land  of  the 
fiery  glow  had  passed  away.  Around  him  there 
was  now,  not  a  fiery  country,  but  a  black  and 
deyastated  country,  out  of  which  smoke  vyas  still 
arising  in  places,  but  from  which  the  fire  had 
departed,  having  done  its  work.  He  now  saw  that 
while  he  had  been  in  a  half  senseless  state  he  had 
been  carried  along  ;  that  the  current  had  drifted 
liim  away  from  the  place  where  the  fire  was  now 
raging,  to  a  place  where  it  raged  no  longer  —  to 
a  place  where  the  air  was  cooler  —  where  it  was 
purer  —  where  the  smoke  was  much  diminished. 
All  around,  and  all  before,  the  country  was  black, 
and  there  arose  a  forest  of  charred  and  blackened 
trees  ;  but  this  sight,  hideous  though  it  might  be 
in  itseli',  was  inexpressibly  delightful  to  eyes  that 
had  just  gazed  upon  tlie  fire  in  its  wrath. 

He  began  to  understand  his  position  now.  This 
was  the  very  thing  that  he  had  hoped  for  when 
first  he  ventured  to  make  the  passage.  His  hope 
had  been  realized.  The  fire  was  advancing  up  the 
stream.  He  had  passed  the  front  line  of  flame, 
the  second  line  of  fire,  and  now  reached  the  black- 
ened and  desolate  tract  that  lay  in  the  rear  of  the 
conflagration.  Here  the  hot  breath  of  the  fire 
existed  no  longer.  Here  the  air  was  purer  —  it 
grew  cooler  at  every  yard  of  his  progress  forward. 


THE   (!LORY    OF   THE   SUNSHINE. 


249 


e 
e 
it 
d. 


It  was,  prol)ul)ly,  this  cooler  air  that  had  revived 
him,  and  given  liim  back  tlie  hreath  that  he  iiad 
nearly  lost  forever  at  that  time  of  his  struggle  near 
the  falling  tree. 

He  looked  up.  The  smoke  was  thinner  over- 
head. Before  him  the  skies  were  brighter,  and  in 
one  place  the  glorious  blue  of  heaven  was  discern- 
ilie.  It  was  the  first  bit  of  blue  sky  that  he  had 
seen  since  first  he  entered  these  ill-omened  woods ; 
and  it  seemed  to  him  to  be  the  harbinger  of  safety, 
and  liberty,  and  life.  His  whole  soul  roused  itself 
in  joyous  hope;  the  last  vestige  of  his  dismay  and 
despondency  departed,  and  even  his  weakness  and 
bodily  languor  left  him.  He  gave  a  cry  of  joy  ;  he 
breathed  a  prayer  of  thankfulness  to  the  merciful 
One  who  had  preserved  him  from  ♦a  terrible  fate  ; 
and  then,  grasping  his  float  with  a  strong  and 
nervous  clutch,  he  once  more  put  forth  his  efforts 
to  quicken  his  progress,  and  struck  out  with 
strong  and  ra])id  strokes. 

Every  moment  his  prospects  increased.  The 
smoke  faded  away  more  and  more,  and  the  blue 
sky  unfolded  itself,  until  at  last  the  glorious  sun 
burst  forth  to  view,  and  threw  upon  him  those 
bright  and  gladdening  rays  to  which  he  had  been 
a  stranger  for  so  many  days.  There  came  up  also 
a  breeze,  and  it  fanned  his  flushed  face,  bringing 
healing  on  its  wings ;  and  as  he  inhaled  it  there 
seemed  in  it  something  which  was  like  a  new  life, 
something  which  gave  new  strength  and  energy  to 


250 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


tliG  i)(»(ly,  and  now  joy  and  hope  to  the  soul.  At 
last  ho  could  l)roatlio  I'rooly.  Tlio  air  liad  lost  all 
that  opprossivonosw  which  it  had  so  lon^'  had.  No 
loiifj^cr  was  tlicro  porce])tihlc  tho  abhorrent  smell 
of  smoke.  lie  had  emerged  from  tho  fire  and  the 
smoke,  and  whorever  he  was,  he  had  at  least  left 
those  things  beliind.  He  had  no  idea  where  he 
was,  01-  whither  he  was  going;  it  was  enough  for 
him  to  know  that  he  had  escaped  from  the  fire 
and  the  woods. 

He  had  boon  long  in  the  water,  but  he  had  no 
desire  to  leave  it.  The  land  was  not  inviting, 
while  his  present  mode  of  progress  was  easy  and 
agreeable.  He  chose,  therefore,  to  drift  on  until 
he  siiould  reach  some  place  where  he  might  rest. 

At  length  there  appeared  before  him  something 
green.  It  looked  like  the  foliage  of  trees.  It 
rose  al)Ove  the  black  land  and  the  charred  stumps 
of  the  burnt  district,  and  seemed  to  be  some  place 
whicli  the  fire  had  not  reached.  Was  it  some 
green  oasis  in  tliis  desert  of  devastation,  or  was 
it  s(  me  new  forest  as  boundless,  as  uninhabited, 
and  as  desolate  as  the  one  in  whicli  he  had  been 
lost  ?  At  tliat  moment  it  mattered  not  to  him 
what  it  was,  so  long  as  it  was  some  place  that  was 
free  from  the  touch  of  fire. 

Onwai'd  he  drifted,  and  the  stream  took  a  turn, 
and  swept  forward.  Here  the  green  foliage  ap- 
peared full  before  him.  It  was  of  no  great  extent. 
Beyond  it  there  was  no  vast  forest,  but  only  the 


:i._ 


THE   OPEN   SEA    AGAIN.  251 

sky.  It  soenied  as  thoiio-]i  in  one  \)hic(i  tlioro  might 
be  a  broad  plain,  so  low  did  it  lie,  and  so  open  was 
it,  and  bare  of  trees.  This  [)laee  he  watehed  with 
the  most  eager  scrutiny.  To  this  he  came  nearer 
and  nearer.  The  space  broadened  every  moment, 
until  at  last  he  thought  that  it  must  indeed  be  a 
wide  plain  —  if  plain  it  was. 

Nearer  he  drew  and  nearer.  Then,  at  length, 
a  suspicion  came  to  his  mind  that  startled  him 
greatly.  Nearer  he  came,  and  nearer,  and  the 
suspicion  changed  to  reality,  for  there,  full  before 
him,  lay  nothing  less  than  the  sea  ! 
The  sea ! 

Yes,  the  sea  !  The  river  ran  into  a  harbor.  The 
liarbor  opened  out  into  the  sea.  It  was  not  a  bay. 
It  was  the  sea,  with  the  distant  horizon  touchinjr 
the  sky.  Before  he  had  reached  the  green  spot, 
he  came  to  a  place  where  a  bridge  had  been,  and 
of  which  nothing  now  remained  but  some  charred 
timbers.  This  showed  him  that  he  could  not  be 
very  fiir  from  human  habitations.  A  little  below 
this  he  reached  the  green  spot,  and,  landing  here, 
he  loosened  his  clothes  from  the  log,  and  dressed 
himself  They  were  wet;  but  his  watch  was  still 
ticking  bravely,  and  marked  three  o'clock.  His 
matches  were  also  dry,  and  a  piece  of  trout  left 
from  his  morning's  repast  was  still  there  un- 
harmed.    This  he  ate  with  an  eager  appetite. 

He  spread  out  his  wet  coat  upon  the  grass,  and 
lay    down   by  it,  and,  while  resting,   deliberated 


252 


FJRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


about  what  he  ouglit  next  to  do.  Wliere  he  was 
he  Iiad  not  the  faintest  idea.  Pie  coiihl  not  h(i  on 
the  Bay  de  Chaleur,  for  then  the  opposite  shore 
would  be  visible  ;  but  here  there  was  no  shore 
opposite.  He  thought  that  it  must  be  the  Gulf  of 
8t.  Lawrence.  If  so,  then  that  bridge  must  be- 
long to  the  road  that  ran  along  the  shore,  and  set- 
tlements could  not  be  very  far  away. 

He  was  now  too  im]iatient  to  rest  any  longer, 
and  was  so  eager  to  find  out  where  the  road  led  to, 
that  he  took  his  halt-dried  coat  over  his  arm,  and 
started  otT  towards  the  burnt  bridge.  The  road 
here  seemed  to  be  pretty  well  travelled,  and  the 
sight  of  this  stimulated  still  more  his  desire  of 
reaching  some  house :  so  he  at  once  set  off. 

He  walked  for  about  a  mile,  through  a  district 
that  had  been  burnt,  and  then  came  to  the  sea- 
shore again.  Here  the  trees  were  green,  and 
there  were  no  signs  of  fire.  There  was  a  cool  and 
refreshing  breeze  now  from  off  the  sea,  an<l  the 
Iiope  of  finding  a  house  stimulated  him  to  such  a 
degree  that  he  maintained  a  rapid  walk  for  at  least 
an(.th(>r  mile. 

And  now,  as  he  ascended  a  slight  elevation,  he 
saw  a  ^'guie,  on  the  road  before  him,  advaiuM'ng 
towards  him.  It  was  a  boy  thai  he  saAV.  He  was 
Avalking  Avearily,  and  seemed  both  tired  and  de- 
jectiMl.     He  was  looking  at  the  ground, 

Phil  hurried  towai'ds  him.  The  bov  did  not  no- 
tice  him  till  he  had  come  quite  close.  Then  ho 
looked  up. 


A   STRANGE   ENCOUNTER.  253 

As  Phil  saw  tlmt  flice,  he  stood  for  a  moment 
speechless  with  amazement  and  delight. 

It  was  Pat ! 

"  Pat !  "  lie  cried.     ^'  Pat  I  " 

He  could  say  no  more.  Tears  of  joy  started  to 
his  eyes.  lie  grasped  Pat's  hand  in  his,  and  looked 
at  him,  completely  overcome.  He  was  too  dee))ly 
agitated  to  notice  Pat's  i'ace  or  manner,  but  stood 
overcome  hy  his  own  emotions. 

"  So  you've  been  after  me,"  said  Phil.  '^  Where 
are  the  rest  of  them?  Where's  I5art?  How  did 
vou  get  here?  What  ])lace  is  this?  Only  think 
of  my  getting  out  here — and  only  a  few  minutes 
ago  —  and  tiien  meeting  with  yon!  IJut  where 
are  the  others?  Come,  Pm  crazy  to  see  Hart.  I 
declare  I  never  was  so  utterly  wonfounded  in  my 
life  !     I)Ut  what's  the  matter  with  vou?" 

In  the  midst  of  Phil's  eager  torrent  of  exclama- 
tions and  questions,  he  was  struck  by  something 
very  pecidiar  in  Pat's  face,  and  in  Pat's  manner, 
and  entled  all  with  this  abrupt  question. 

In  fact,  Pat's  a[)pearance  was  very  ])eculiar. 

II is  I'ace  was  Jtale,  and  had  an  anxious  expres- 
sion. Ilis  eyes,  generally  so  merry,  and  open,  and 
frank,  were  now  lurtive  and  suspicious;  and  in- 
stead of  showing  any  ])leasure  at  the  sight  of  Phil, 
he  started  back,  and  snatched  his  hand  away. 

At  Phil's  (piestion  Pat  gave  a  very  heavy  sigh, 
and  made  no  answer. 

''Pat.    Put,    what   is    the    matter?"    cried    Phil 


' 


254 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


again.    "  Has  any tbing  happened  ?    Where's  Bart  ? 
What  is  the  matter?" 

''Matther,"  nuittered  Pat.  '^Matthcr  enough, 
surely,  as  ye'U  know  to  yer  sorra." 

At  this  Phil  stared  at  liini  in  ama/xMuent.  Pat 
was  so  totally  changed  from  his  former  self,  that 
he  couldn't  ccmiprehend  it  at  all. 

«  Come,  Pat,"  said  he,  "  don't  keep  me  in  sus- 
pense. I  see  by  your  manner  that  some  horrible 
thing  has  happened  to  some  of  you.  Which  is  it? 
Is  it  Bart  ?  " 

Pat  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  me,"  said  he,  in  a  dismal  voice.    "  Me.    I'm 

the  one." 

«  You  !     Why,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I'm  a  leper  !"  wailed  Pat. 

"You,  what?      You're    what?     What    are    you 

talking  about?" 

"You'll    know   soon    encmgh.     An    maybe   yell 
find  out  from  shakin  my  hand  the  way  ye  did  jist 

now." 

"  Shaking  your  hand  !  " 

"  Yis  "  said  Pat.  "  Ayven  the  t(Uich  of  me's  on- 
wbowlsome,  so  it  is.  An'  I've  got  that  on  me_  that's 
goin  to  be  the  death  of  mc  afore  long,  so  it  is."  ^ 

"See  here,  Pat,"  cried  IMiil,  anxiously.  "Tell 
me  what's  the  matter,  like  a  goo<l  fellow.  Y(m 
make  me  horribly  anxious.     Wliat  do  you  mean?" 

"  Och,  sure,  an  what's  the  use?  Didn't  1  say  it  ? 
What   are  ye  tormentin  mo  for  to  say  it  again? 


I 


I 


THE   WANDERING    LEPER.  255 

Haven't  I  just  run  away  wliin  it's  too  late  intirely  ? 
An  the  leprosy's  tuk,  so  it  lias  !  " 

"  The  —  the  w!iat  ?     Wliat's  that  ?  "  asked  I'hil. 

"Sure  an  haven't  1  been  sayin  that  it's  a  leper  I 
am,"  cried  I?at,  despairinj^ly. 

''A  leper!"  repeated  IMiil,  who  l)e<>:an  to  think 
that  poor  Pat  was  (piite  insane,  and  wonder(Ml  what 
he  ou<j^]it  to  do  with  him  under  the  circumstances. 

"  I've  hnppened  amon^^  lepers,"  said  Pat.  "  Pve 
batlied  in  the  leper  wather  —  an  that's  the  way 
1  tuk  it.  Pve  ate  wid  tlie  leper  praste  ;  an  Hart's 
wid  liim  now — in  the  wuds  —  they're  huntin 
aftlieryou;  hut  I  ran  lor  it — ibr  I  was  hopin  to 
get  away  before  the  leprosy  tuk  —  but  tuk  it  did 
—  in  sj)ite  of  me  ;  and  tliat's  all  alu»ut  it." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Phil,  in  bewilder- 
ment, for  Pat's  remarks  had  some  decree  of  con- 
nectedness, and  did  not  sound  (luite  like  insanity 
except  his  allusions  to  leprosy.     "  I   don't  under- 
stand,"  said  he,  ''  what  you  mean  about  leprosy." 

"Suni  it's  the  Lazaretto,  at  Traciulie,  I  mean. 
I  got  the  leprosy  by  bathin,  so  1  did  —  an  aitin 
wid  the  lejx'r  prnste." 

"  You'll  have  to  explain.  This  is  all  ncmsenso. 
Come,  l*at,  dim't  make;  a  fool  of  yourself  You've 
got  some  absurd  idea  in  ycuir  head.  Come,  tell 
me  all  about  it,  for  1  can't  make  it  out  at  all,  you 
know." 

"Well,  it's  this  way,"  said  Pat,  with  undimin- 
ished dolel'ulness ;   "  ony  don't  be  kapin  too  nair 


BB^H 


256 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


me  if  ye  vally  yer  life  —  this  was  the  way  of  it. 
Ye  see  we  waiidiiered  about  the  wuds  aftlier  ye, 
an  sure  enouj>h  before  we  kiiowed  it  we  got  lost 
ourselves.  Well,  we  wandhered  about,  and  at  last 
we  come  out  in  a  place  they  call  Tracadie,  an  bad 
luck  to  it.  So  we  mit  a  praste  that  was  all  smiles 
and  blarney,  an  he  tuk  us  to  his  house  an  gr.ve  us 
fud.  Well,  thin,  I  wint  out  for  a  walk,  an  I  see  a 
bit  of  wather,  an  wint  to  it  to  have  a  bit  of  a  swim. 
Well,  I  come  to  a  onwhowlsome  lookin  place,  wid 
ghosts  of  people  in  it,  that  wud  faiily  make  yer 
blood  run  cowld  to  look  at,  an  I  stared  at  thim,  an 
walked  right  close  to  thim,  an  brathed  their  brith, 
an  walked  over  their  ground,  an  wint  on  to  the 
wather,  an  ondrissed,  an  wint  in.  An  I  slnvam 
there  nearly  an  hour,  an  thin  I  wint  back,  an  what 
do  ye  think  the  praste  towld  me." 

''What?"  asked  Phih 

"  Sure,  he  up  an  he  towld  us  that  the  onwhowl- 
some lookin  house  wor  a  lazaretto,  an  the  ghosts 
of  people  there  wor  lepers  —  nothin  else — an  he 
said  he  wor  the  leper  praste,  an  s])int  the  most  of 
his  time  wid  thim  same  —  sittin  wid  thim  ■ —  talkin 
wid  thim  — feelin  thim —  handlin  thim  —  an  brathin 
the  poison  leper  air.  An  \ui  towld  us  that  the  wather 
was  the  leper  wather,  where  the  lepers  bathed.  An 
I  had  bathed  there,"  cried  Pat,  with  a  burst  of 
despair.  "An  I'd  tuk  a  shwim  there,"  he  cried, 
with  another  burst.  "An  I'd  been  in  the  house  of 
the  leper  praste,"  —  a  groan  —  "  an  I'd  sat  on  his 


I' 


THE   WANDERING   LEPER. 


257 


chairs,"  — anotlier  groan  — ''an  I'd  ate  at  his  ta- 
ble,"—a  huwi  — ''an  I'd  swallowed  his  iud,"  — 
another  howl  — "an  I'd  been  gettin  the  leiJ'osy 
meself  all  the  time,"  and  a  ery  that  was  something- 
like  a  yell  of  despair  terminated  Pat's  story. 

Phil  listened  to  all  this,  and  i'elt  puzzled. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  lazarettos," 
said  he,  "and  lepers.  I  did'nt  know  the  disease 
was  in  this  country." 

"  Well,  it  is,  thin,"  moaned  Pat.  "  An  Pll  soon  be 
there  too,  so  I  will." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Phil,  impatiently.  "Did  you 
ask  the  priest  if  there  was  any  danger?" 

"Oeh,  sure  he  wouldn't  be  afther  committin 
himsilf." 

"  Didn't  he  say  anything  aboutdt?  " 

"  He  did,  thin." 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"  Why,  he  said  he  had  lived  among  the  lepers 
all  his  life,  an  visited  tliim  almost  every  day ;  but 
wor  as  w^ell  a  man  as  anylxjdy.  An  he  said  the 
disease  couldn't  be  caught." 

"Did  he  say  that?"  cried  Phil.  "Why,  of 
course.  I  knew  that.  You  are  mistaken  al- 
together." 

"Sure,  an  how  does  the  praste  know?  His 
time'll  come  yit,  so  it  will." 

"  Nonsense  !     This  isn't  the  real  leprosy,  at  all. 
It'8  some  disease  that's  hereditary,!  (hire  say;  but 
it   isn't    contagious.     Pooh!    how  absurd!     Whv 
17 


258 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


Pat,  what  could  have  put  such  a  noti  )n  into  your 
liead.  The  leper  water  is  all  nonsense.  What 
harm  could  it  do  you  to  bathe  in  the  sea?  If  all 
the  lepers  in  the  world  were  bathing  at  the  same 
time,  they  couldn't  affect  the  sea  water." 

Phil  now  began  to  reason  with  Pat,  and  he 
spoke  so  earnestly  and  so  confidently,  that  at  last 
Pat's  fears  began  to  yield.  Phil  showed  him  that 
he  couldn't  possibly  have  the  leprosy  yet,  and 
assured  him  that  he  wasn't  going  to  have  it. 
Finally,  he  told  him  the  story  of  the  most  famous 
of  all  lepers  —  Naaman  the  Syrian.  From  this 
story  he  proved  so  conclusively  that  there  were 
some  kinds  of  leprosy  that  were  not  contagious, 
that  Pat  hadn't  a  word  to  say.  The  story  pro- 
duced a  profound  and  most  beneficial  effect  upon 
Pat's  mind. 

"  Sure  an  T  niver  thought  of  him  before.  Why 
didn't  I  think  of  ould  Naymin  ?  An  him  the  chafe 
gineral  of  the  Misaypytamyins,  so  he  was.  Sure 
an  there  wer  nothin  contagious  in  that  leprosy. 
The  leper  Naymin !  Sure  an  what  a  fool  I  wor 
niver  to  think  of  the  leper  Naymin  !  " 


r 


FISH   FOR   BREAKFAST.  250 


XX. 

Fish  for  Breakfast.  —  Tlie  Cottage  and  the  Schooner. 
—  A  familiar  Sight.  —  The  old  Boat.  —  Sinking 
in  deep  Waters.  —  An  exciting  and  amazing 
Meeting.  —  TJie  Flag.  —  Bart  on  the  Road.  —  A 
strange  Discovery.  —  A  f resit  Surprise. 

'flE  happy  suggestion  of  Phil  brouglit  iiiUnite 
relief  to  Pat;  and  the  story  of  Naanian  the 
Syrian  had  sufficient  power  over  liiiri  to 
dispel  his  fears,  and  restore  his  olden  peace  of 
mind.  So  great  was  the  reaction  now,  that  he 
went  to  the  other  extreme  ;  and  being  of  a  very 
excitable  and  volatile  temperament,  he  exhibited  a 
joy  as  immoderate  as  his  grief  had  been  but  a 
short  time  before.  He  made  Phil  tell  him  all 
about  his  adventures  ;  and  as  he  listened  to  all 
the  dangers  through  which  his  friend  had  gone, 
his  warm  Irish  heart  overflowed  with  the  truest 
sympathy,  and  he  followed  the  story  with  a  run- 
ning accompaniment  of  ejaculations  of  the  most 
animated  character.  As  for  his  own  story,  he  had 
already  told  it ;  but  there  yet  remained  the  tale  of 
his  flight  in  the  woods.    This  he  confessed  without 


260  FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 

reservation,  and  informed  Phil  that  he  had  been 
wandering  in  tlie  woods  all  day.  and  had  stnmbled 
out  upon  the  road  only  about  an  hour  ago.  lie 
had  seen  no  houses,  and  had  mot  no  people.  Thi.s 
information  at  once  changed  Phil's  plans.  If  Pat 
had  seen  no  inhal)itants  after  an  hour's  walk,  it 
was  clearly  useless  for  him  to  go  any  farther  that 
day.  He  was  worn  out  with  the  exertions  that  he 
had  made,  and  longed  for  rest.  Pat  also  confessed 
that  he  was  on  the  borders  of  starvation,  and  was 
too  tired  to  go  any  farther.  Upon  this,  they  both 
resolved  to  remain  here  for  the  night. 

It  was  now  somewhat  late  in  the  day,  but  not 
too  late  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  catching 
some  fish  for  su})i)er.  On  Phil's  suggesting  this, 
Pat  received  it  w^ith  an  enthusiasm  that  was  alto- 
gether like  his  old  self;  and  as  there  was  no  time 
to  lose,  they  at  once  set  out  in  search  of  a  brook. 
Pat  remembered  passing  one  not  more  than  half  a 
mile  from  this  place  ;  so  they  proceeded  in  this 
direction,  which  was  the  same  in  which  Phil  had 
been  going.  Pat's  story  had  served  to  give  him 
some  general  idea  of  his  whereabouts.  Pat  had 
been  at  Tracadie  ;  and  though  he  had  lost  his  way, 
yet  there  was  every  reason  to  believe  that  they 
were  now  not  very  far  away  from  that  place,  on 
the  shore  of  the  Gulf  of  8t.  Lawrence,  and  most 
probably  to  the  northward  ;  for  though  Pat  did  not 
know  exactly  his  position,  yet  he  was  sure  that  he 
must  have  come  out  of  the  woods  farther  north 
than  Tracadie. 


NIGHT  IN  THE   WOODS.  261 

After  about  a  half  mile's  walk  tliey  reached  a 
brook  and   began  to  fish.     Their  success  was  not 
brilliant,  but  any  fish  at  all  were  very  welcome  at 
such  a  time  ;  and  the  half  dozen  or  so  which  they 
succeeded  in   hooking  were  regarded  by  them  as 
capable  of  affording  a  repast  which  a  king  might 
envy.     They  soon  had  a  fire  burning,  and  broiled 
the  fish  on  the  coals,  and  thus  made  their  dinner. 
Among  the  woods  here  they  found  a  district  which 
had  escaped  the  ravages  of  the  fire,  and  here  they 
passed  the  night.     They  went  to  rest  a  little  afteV 
sundown,  and  awoke  the  next  morning  l)efbre  day. 
They  then   made  a  breakfast  off  the  remains  of 
their  evening's  repast,  and  were  ready  for  a  start. 
There   was   no   question    now   as  to  the  route 
which  they  should   take.     Pat   had   been  walking 
in  a  direction  the  very  opposite  of  that  in  which 
Phil  had  been  going,  but  he  had  no  desire  now  to 
persist  in  it.     Then  he  felt  himself  to  be  a  victim 
of  one  of  the  most  cruel  fates  that  can  befall  man- 
kind, and  was  seeking  to  fiy  from  it,  anywhere,  no 
matter  where.    Now,  however,  thanks  to  Phil,  and 
to   Naaman,   he    felt   himself  to  be   a  victim   no 
longer,  and  was  anxious  to  get  back  to  the  place 
where  Bart  was  or  might  be.     He  felt  also  a  kind 
of  pride   arising  from  the  fact  that  he   had  been 
the  first  one  to  find  Phil ;  and  the  pride  was  quite 
as  strong  as  it  would  have  been  if  he   had  found 
Phil  by  his  own  actual  efforts.    The  circumstances 
under  which  their  meeting  had  taken  place  he  dis- 


262 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


missed  from  his  mind,  and  clioso  rather  to  dwell 
upon  the  fact  that  his  confidence  in  Pliil's  ability 
to  take  care  of  himself  had  been  completely  vin- 
dicated. So  now,  on  that  morning,  as  they 
renewed  their  walk,  there  remained  in  Pat's 
mind  not  a  vestige  of  his  foolish  fears;  but  in- 
stead of  them  there  was  a  sense  of  triumph,  a 
consciousness  of  superior  merit,  and  a  sweet  an- 
ticipation of  the  glory  that  would  now  be  his,  as 
he  brought  back  Phil  in  safety. 

Their  frugal  repast  did  not  occupy  many  min- 
utes, and  the   sun  had  not  yet  risen  when  they 
started.     They  were   eager  to  go  on,  and  so  they 
walked  at  a  rapid    pace.     Tiie  road  was  a  very 
primitive  one,  and   had   they  been   in  a  carriage, 
their  progress  would  have  been  rough  and  slow ; 
but  on  foot  they  were  able  to  avoid  the  deep  ruts 
and  numerous  irregularities,  and  make  a  very  good 
progress  indeed.     After  about  an  hour,  they  came 
within  sight  of  a  harbor.    They  liad  been  for  some 
time  out  of  sight  of  the  sea,  and  this   prospect 
filled  them  with  the  hope  that  they  were  not  very 
far  from  Tracadie.     To   Pat,  the  sight  of  the  har- 
bor gave  very  strong  recollections  of  that  place. 
Tlie  water  was  very  smooth,  and  seemed  like  a 
lake.     A  long,  narrow  strip  of  land  separated  the 
harbor  from   the   outer  sea,  and  the   general  ap- 
pearance of  the  place  was  very  much  like  that  of 
the    "  leper  wather  "   in  which   Pat  had   bathed. 
As  they  advanced  towards  it,  the  sun  rose  ;  and  as 


THE   COTTAGE   AND   THE   SCH00x\ER.  2G3 

the  glorious  orb  ascended  from  the  ocean,  tlieir 
whole  sight  was  filled  with  the  splendor  of  his 
appearance. 

Looking  now  upon  the  scene  before  them,  they 
saw  at  last  the  signs  of  man.  On  the  shore  was  a 
small  cottage,  and  near  the  shore,  in  the  harbor, 
was  a  small  schooner.  These  were  both  only  a 
short  distance  away,  and  to  these  they  hastened. 
On  reaching  the  cottage  they  went  up  to  it,  but 
to  their  great  disappointment  found  that  it  was 
deserted  and  in  ruins.  The  door  was  gone,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  it  had  not  been  inhabited  for 
some  time. 

"  We've  got  to  go  on  further,"  said  Pat.  "  There 
must  be  more  houses  further  on." 

"  I  wish  we  could  find  out  where  we  are,"  said 
Phil.  "  I  wonder  if  any  one  is  on  board  of  that 
schooner." 

Saying  this,  he  cast  longing  eyes  upon  the 
schooner  before  mentioned.  It  was  anchored  in 
front  of  the  cottage,  not  far  away  from  the  shore. 
It  was  a  small  vessel,  and  somewhat  shabby,  and 
behind  it  there  was  a  boat  floating  in  the  water. 

"  It  looks  as  if  there  was  some  one  on  board," 
said  Pat.     "  They've  got  the  boat  there  !  " 

"  I  wish  I  could  go  and  ask  them  where  wo  are," 
said  Phil ;  and  saying  this,  he  walked  towards  the 
beach. 

As  he  did  so  he  saw  a  boat  upon  the  beach.  It 
was  old  and  dilapidated,  like  the  house  to  which 


I 


I 


I: 


264  FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 

it  seemed  to  belong.  No  sooner  had  he  seen  it, 
than  he  was  struck  by  the  tliought  that  he  might 
manage  to  get  to  the  schooner  by  means  of  this*, 
so  he  began  to  examine  it  very  narrowly.  It  was 
very  clumsily  constructed,  and  looked  more  like 
a  box  than  a  boat ;  but  it  was  strong,  and  though 
dilapidated,  it  still  looked  as  though  it  might  float 
for  the  short  distance  that  separated  the  schooner 
from  the  shore. 

"  I'll  try  it,"  said  Phil. 

"  Thry  what  ?  "  asked  Pat. 

"  Why,  ril  go  out  to  the  schooner  in  this  boat." 

"  How'U  we  row  her?"  said  Pat.  "  We  haven't 
any  oars." 

"  Well,  in  the  first  place,  it  can't  hold  more  than 
one ;  so  you'll  have  to  stay,  unless  you  want  to  go 
very  particularly." 

"  Niver  a  bit  do  I,"  said  Pat.  "  Pm  not  brakin 
my  heart  about  it,  so  1  ain't.    Pll  stay  an  welcome." 

"  Then  Pll  go,"  said  Phil,  ''  and  you  wait.  I'll 
have  to  get  something  though,  that'll  do  for  an  oar." 

Saying  this,  he  went  back  to  the  house,  and 
looked  about  for  some  time.  At  length  he  found 
a  pole  lying  near  the  well,  and  taking  this,  he  went 
back  to  the  boat.  Pat  and  he  then  pushed  it  from 
the  shore  into  the  water.     It  floated. 

"  Hurrah  !  "  said  Phil.  "  It'll  carry  me  out  that 
far  any  way." 

"  Sure  an  don't  ye  see  the  wather,  how  it's 
rowlin  an  rushin  in  ?  "  cried  Pat. 


THE   OLD   BOAT.  .         2G5 

Pliil  looked,  and  saw  that  tlie  boat  was,  indeed, 
anything  hut  water-tight,  for  the  water  was  oozing 
in  through  numerous  eraeks  and  creviees. 

"  It'll  take  me  out  that  far,"  said  he  ;  and  with 
these  words  he  juiv^  .d  into  the  boat,  and  thrust- 
ing tiie  pole  into  the  ground,  he  pushed  her  off. 

Pat  stood  watching  his  movements  with  great 
interest. 

Phil  pushed  for  some  time,  thrusting  his  polo 
down  to  ihe  bottom,  and  made  excellent  progress. 
In  this  way  he  reached  a  point  more  than  halfway 
to  the  schooner.  Here,  however,  it  grew  too 
deep,  and  he  had  to  use  the  pole  as  a  paddle.  It 
was  but  a  clumsy  instrument  for  this  purpose,  and 
his  progress  was  but  slow ;  still  he  managed  to 
draw  nearer  to  his  destination,  *and  worked  witii 
connnendahlo  diligence.  Hut  unfortunately  there 
was  something  more  to  be  considered  than  mere 
progress  forward,  and  that  was  the  condition  of 
the  boat  itself.  For  while  Phil  was  gaining  on  the 
schooner,  the  water  was  gaining  on  liim.  By  the 
time  that  he  had  reached  half  way,  the  water  was 
over  his  ankles.  Had  his  progress  continued  at 
the  same  rate,  he  might  have  reached  the  schooner 
without  any  very  great  inconvenience ;  but  as  it 
was,  the  water  rushed  in  faster  and  iaster,  and  in 
spite  of  his  efforts  he  began  to  fear  that  he  would 
not  reach  his  destination.  Fortunately  for  him, 
the  schooner  happened  to  be  lying  with  her  stern 
towards  the  shore,  and  the  schooner's  boat  was  thus 


2()6  VUIK    IN    TUK   WOODS. 

Inoiif^lit  nearer  to  him.  This  mtiterially  lessene(l 
the  (hstaiice  to  he  traAcrscd.  He  now  soiii^ht  to 
r(su'h  the  scliooiier's  l»oat.  lie  itadiUed  with 
<les))('r;il«'  clVorls,  and  as  h(^  })addl<!d  tlui  water 
rose  higher.  At  lenj^th  h(^  found  hiinscIC  within 
reach  olthc  scliooncr's  Itoat  ;  he  flun^'  out  liis  poh', 
and  sought  to  pull  it  nearer.  As  lie  did  so  th(; 
hoat  hi'gaii  to  sink  under  him.  'I'hc  watcu'  rosi;  to 
his  knees.  At  that  instant  the  schooner's  Itoat 
was  within  reaidi,  and  llin}^ing  himself  forward,  hv. 
half  s(M'amhle<|,  half  tnmhhMJ  into  it. 

'I'lien  (juite  out  of  hreath,  he  sat  down,  and 
restecl  for  a  mom<'nt,  while  the  hoat  hy  which  h(5 
had  come  slowly  drifteij  nlV.  At  this  mom(»nt  a 
shout  of  j(»y  came  from  I*at,  who  had  Ixu'n  watch- 
ing th(j  proeiHMlings  with  intense^  interest. 

I>ut  I'hil's  movi'inents  had  not  l»een  unnoticed 
on  hoard  tli(;  schooner;  and,  indeed,  Ik;  had  niad(> 
noise  enough  to  rouse  any  who  might  Ix!  tlier(^ 
lie;  was  not  surprisetj,  tlier(dore,  when  In;  IicNird 
movejneiits  on  h  tard,  and  voices,  and  footsteps. 
So  he  looked  up,  wilhout  rising,  so  as  to  see  those 
on  hoan*       ho  might  he  moving. 

INiil  had  not  heen  surprised  ;;{  the  sound  of 
movements  on  hoard  ;  I>ut  he  was  Vi^ry  greatly 
surprised,  indec'd,  at  the  sight  of  the  person  who 
in(!t  his  eyes. 

As  he  looked  up  some  one  iidvance<l  to  tin; 
stern  and  looked  down  uj)on  liiui.  It  was  an  aged 
piM'son,  with  ii  mild  face,  and  a  gracious  eye,  and  a 


AN    i:X( HIN(;    MKKTIXd. 


2()7 


1)0110 V()I(Uit  smiles  II(^  woro  a  pou-jiickot,  iuid  liis 
lioiul  was  coviuod  v.itli  a  s()U\V(!stor.  It  was  a 
i'iU'Ai  Ilu5  sijL^lit  of  vvhioli  almost  rnailo  l*hil  hound 
out  of"  tlio  l)oat. 

Wliilo  this  person  cxcitcMl  such  emotions  in  the 
breast  oi"  IMiil,  his  own  emotions  at  the  sij^ht  ot' 
Pliil  wore  no  h'ss  stron;;.  'I'htiro  Ik;  was,  in  tlic; 
schooner's  hoat,  with  no  visible  means  hy  wliich  his 
ap[)earan(HJ  there  couhl  he  expliiiruMl.  'I'h(!  person 
in  th(;  schooner,  theridbn;,  st:ire(l  at  IMiil,  and  tluMi 
rcmovint;-  his  liat  with  <tne  hand,  witli  tlie  other 
hand  lie  thoughtfully  scratcluid  his  venerahio 
iiead,  and   tluui  slowly  ejaculated, — 

"  (io-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-il  thundcjr!" 

"('Mjttiiin  Corhet!"  exclaimed  Phil,  in  inde- 
R(M'ihalile  Minii/.ement. 

And  then  tlu^y  both  stared  at  (^ach  other  in 
Hilen(U\ 

Hut  th(^  silence  was  soon  broken.  Footsteps 
wer(!  heard,  and  soon  one  after  another  he  ids 
appeare(|.  iind  then  botlies,  and  then  tlu;  new 
comers  stood  by  the  side  ol"  Captain  (^)rbot,  starinj^ 
over  \\iv  stern  at  IMnI  in  mutc^  astonishmiMit. 

And  IMiil  starc^l  back  at  them  all  in  astonish- 
ment   fully   ecpial   t<)  tluur  own. 

It  was  IJruce  Kawdon  I 

And  Arthur  ! 

And  'i'om  ! 

As  for  Phil,  he  (Mudd  not  utter  a  word.  Nor 
could  th(5  otlu^rs  on  bttard  tho  schooner. 


208 


KIIIIO    FN    TIIK    WOODS. 


But  Put,  tlio  (!X<;it(',(l  watcher  on  tli(5  slioro — • 
Pat  lisul  soon  it  all,  aii'l  ho  was  anything  hut  niuto. 
Muto?  lit!  I»()wl(!(l.  Il(!  yoll(!(l.  Il(!  V()(;ilorato(l 
uiiint((lli{j;ihlo  volhsys  of  IViiiilic;  (sxc^lairratiorjs,  ad 
(lr(iss(!(i  to  oaoh  hy  turns.  'I'hon  woids  lliihid,  anrj 
li(^  hc^an  to  (laiKUj. 

At  lo-n^th  Phil  pullcfl  tlu;  hoiit  up,  and  sorainl»lo(l 
on  hoard  tho  sclioon«!r,  and  was  sci/o(l  hy  all  tho 
hoys  in  turn,  and  ovoiwhchrMMl  wilh  (piostiona; 
whihi  lu^on  his  part,  ovorwholuMMl  thorn  with  (juoh- 
tions  (juito  as  (Niji;(M'  and  <|iiit(!  as  nnniorous. 

Thciir  story  was  soon  told.  'I'hoy  had  loft  at  tho 
tiuK!  iriontiono(|  hy  l>ru(;o  in  his  lottor  to  IJart,  and 
had  hoon  cruising  alon^  tho  coast  of  the;  (inll  of  St. 
IjawrciiMto.  Tlu^y  had  arrivocl  h(!ro  tho  day  holorc;, 
and  as  tlu^y  W(!ro  in  no  hurry,  thoy  had  anchorod 
lor  tho  ni}i:ht,  with  tlxi  intention  of  doin^;  a  littlo 
fishinj^.  'J'hcir  piao(!  of  r(!nd(!/.vous  was  Sliipixijjjan, 
which  was  not  Far  away,  nno  they  lia(|  a  w«'(dc  to 
Hf)aro  its  yot.  Thoy  had  no  idea  that  Bart,  woidd 
]oav(;  HO  niu(di  holon;  tho  tinio,  Jind  could  not 
iind(Tstand   how   IMiil   had    found  thoin. 

IMiil's  story  was  Koon  toM  ;  for,  as  \\i)  was  a modc^sfc 
hoy,  h<5  did  not  dwidl  u|)on  his  own  advcntunfs  to 
anything  liko  tlu!  oxtcMit  which  I  hav(5  done  ;  and 
so  thoy  loarnofl  that  their  niootin|^  was  j)urely 
ac(U(Iontal,  and  that  IMiil  had  l)0(ui  lost,  and  had 
loiind  Pat,  who  had  he(;n  lost  also,  and  that  theso 
two  lost  on<!s  had  stunihled  upon  thoni  hero,  in 
Tracadiu  lagoon. 


THE   FLA(.\ 


209 


Ah  of  vvlii(;li  (ilicilcMl  woiidiir,  and  lim^lit(5r,  arifl 
Hlioiifs,  and  no  (!ii<l  ofoap'i'  (jiicstioiis,  and  (!.\(;it«!(l 
oxclaiiiiitidiis.  Ill  lli(!  iiiidsl  ol'  (his  Tom  nislKid 
oil',  and  \}y  way  oj"  jj^iviiig*  projjcr  cxprcihsioii  to  llm 
fboliiij^s  wliicli  a;;itiil('d  l,li(!iii  all,  Ik;  hiiMi^lit  I'ortii 
tli(5  lia^^  ol"  Mir  l'>.  ().  W.  (J.  I'n.iii  lli(!  cal.in  ol"  (Ik; 
Aiifolopo,  \vli(3io,  straii^(!ly  oiion^li,  it  had  hccii  left 
Kirico  lli(!ir  last  V(»ya^«!;  and  in  a  lew  iiiinnt(!S  lio 
liad  li()ist(;d  it  aloft,  U'luiro  it  lliitlerod,  and  l!oal(!d, 
and  wav(Ml  triuniplianlly  in  tlio  fi(;sli  morning 
l)roo/(3. 

And  now  l*liil  tlio«i^lit  of  Pal,  and  in(!nli()n('d 
that  ho  was  upon  tlio  sIioim;;  whoriMipon  l)iU(;(3 
rush(!(l  to  tlu!  boat  to  ^o  for  him.  As  ho  loaptid 
in,  I'hil  and  the  others  looUcfj  towards  tho  \)hn;v, 
\vh(;ro  l*at  had  hoeii  standing',  and  saw  a  wa^on 
and  I  wo  p(!rsons,  a  hoy  and  a  man,  talking- with  l*at. 

N(»w,y()U  know,  that  very  morniiij:;  Hart  had  loft 
aloii;^  with  till!  jniest,  on  his  way  to  tho  north,  to 
carry  on  his  s(!arch  aft«w  IMiil.  It  was  ciaily  when 
thoy  l(d't,  h'lt  as  tlnj  road  was  roiij^h,  their  proj^ress 
was  not  particularly  rapid.  Still  they  did  iiiak(! 
HoiiK!  pr();:;ross,  and  in  piocM^ss  of  tinni  they  reached 
tho  plaoc!  wher(f  the  schooner  lay  ancdiored.  'riii* 
Mchooner  excited  IJart's  attention,  for  there  was 
sometliiii;^;  in  her  jj;eneral  appearanco  that  was 
Htranj:;ely  lamiliar.  As  they  drew  nc^arer  they  saw 
a  numlter  of  li|;iires  on  the  deck,  lunnirifjf  to  and 
Iro,  and  ^ivin^'  all  [xissild-  siuiis  of  the  jjrreatest 
possihlu   uxciteniont.     Suddenly,  in   tho   mi(Jst  of 


270  FIRE  IN   THE  WOODS. 

tins,  he  saw  a  flag  ascend,  and  float  in  the  breeze. 
It  was  dark  in  color,  and  of  a  nondescript  char- 
acter, and  at  first  its  emblazonment  was  not  dis- 
tinctly visible.  Soon,  however,  he  came  near 
enoug-h  to  see  it.  Then  the  whole  thing  was 
disclosed. 

It  was  the  well-known  flag  —  his  flag  —  the  flag 
that  had  waved  over  the  most  memorable  events 
of  his  life  —  the  flag  of  the  B.  0.  W.  C. ! 

The  thing  was  astonishing,  yet  not  incompre- 
hensible. He  saw  that  the  Antelope  had  probably 
been  cruising  about  these  waters  on  her  way  to 
Shippegan.  He  saw  that  he  had  come  upon  her 
in  an  amazing  manner ;  but  what  seemed  incom- 
prehensible was  the  excitement  on  her  deck. 
What  was  the  cause,  and  what  did  it  mean?  It 
could  not  be  that  they  had  recognized  him,  and 
had  done  this  in  honor  of  his  arrival.  No  ;  it  must 
be  something  else. 

He  said  nothing  to  the  ])riest,  but  sat  filled  with 
excitement,  waiting  till  they  should  come  near. 
In  this  way  they  approached  the  old  house,  and 
beside  the  shore  he  saw  a  figure  dancing,  jumping, 
yelling,  shouting,  waving  his  cap,  and  indulging 
in  a  thousand  fantastic  gestures. 

This  figure  was  Pat. 

The  wagon  stopped,  and  Bart  jumped  out,  fol- 
lowed by  the  ])riest.  In  a  few  minutes  Bart 
understood  all.  First  of  all,  Phil  had  been  found; 
secondly,  he  was  on  board  the  schooner,  and  the 


A    FRESH   SURPRISE.  271 

excitement  was  about  him  ;  and  thirdly,  Pat  claimed 
the  honor  of  discovering  Phil. 

In  the  midst  of  this  a  boat  approached  the  shore, 
and  soon  Bruce  Rawdon  stood  before  them,  giving 
them  an  uproarious  welcome.  The  arrival  of  Bart 
had  given  a  new  turn  to  the  excitement  of  the 
occasion,  and  they  all  went  off  to  the  schooner, 
accompanied  by  the  priest,  who  entered  most 
heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the  joyous  scene. 


272  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


XXI. 

Where  is  Solomon  ? —  The  SearcJi.  —  77ie  aged  Wan- 
derer. —  Iieco'/nitio)t.  —  Boating.  —  Fishing.  — 
Cooking. — Swimming.  —  The  Pr(jtaratio)(s/or  the 
Ba)iquet.  —  The  savory  i^rncJl.  —  Solomon  dances 
a  Breakdown,  and  makes  a  Speech. 

'HEIR  joy  was  long  and  uproarious.  Innu- 
merable wore  the  questions  which  they 
asked  each  other;  but  at  lengtli  they  suc- 
ceeded in.  gathering;  from  the  confusion  a  general 
idea  of  tlie  fortunes  of  each  member  of  the  party. 

And  then,  in  the  midst  of  their  joy,  there  came 
a  mournful  thougiit.  It  was  tlie  thought  that  one 
was  yet  missing  out  of  their  number,  and  that  his 
fate  was  involved  in  mystery. 

Where  was  Solomon  ? 

Pat  knew  nothing  more  than  any  of  tlie  rest  of 
them,  and  his  story  only  served  to  show  that  after 
leading  Solomon  astray,  he  had  left  him  in  the 
midst  of  the  forest.  Where  he  now  was,  none 
could  tell ;  but  all  saw  the  necessity  of  doing  some- 
thing; and  so,  when  Bart  proposed  that  they  siiould 
go  in  search  of  him,  they  all  assented  most  eager- 
ly. The  priest  still  saw  that  they  would  require 
his  assistance,  and  offered   to   take   them  where 


ORDER  OP  MARCH.  273 

they  wished  to  ,2^0  ;  while  Captain  Corbet  felt  such 
intense  interest  in  the  fate  of  Iiis  ao-ed  friend,  that 
he  insisted  on  making  one  of  the  party,  and  bring- 
ing  Mr.  Wade  as  an  additional  recruit. 

Some  preliminaries  had  to  be  atten<led  to  before 
they  were  able  to  start,  among  which  the  first  was 
to  get  themselves  ashore.  This  was  accomplished 
in  two  trips ;  after  which  the  boat  was  hauled  up 
on  the  beach,  and  tied  to  a  tree.  Then  the  priest 
had  to  see  to  the  well-being  of  his  horse,  which 
he  did  by  leaving  his  wagon  behind  the  house, 
and  letting  the  horse  go  free  in  the  meadow. 

After  this  the  priest  gave  them  some  general 
advice  as  to  their  proceedings.  lie  reminded 
them  of  their  former  mishaps',  and  in  order  to 
guard  against  their  losing  the  way,  he  advised 
them  to  go  on  in  a  line,  keeping  always  within 
sound  of  one  another,  if  not  in  sight.  This  they 
all  promised  to  do,  and  made  no  objection,  for  their 
recent  various  adventures  in  the  way  of  wander- 
ing  had  deeply  impressed  their  minds'. 
At  length  they  all  started,  as  follows  :  — 

The  Priest, 

Captain  Corbet, 

Mr.  Wade, 

Bruce, 

Arthur, 

Bart, 

Tom, 

Phil, 
18  Pat. 


-TW^ 


% 


I 


!l 


274  FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 

The  priest  led  the  way,  and  leaving  the  road 
close  by  the  old  house,  they  went  stiaight  into  the 
woods.  Soon  the  forest  grew  tliick,  and  as  they 
went  on,  they  saw  that  here  no  signs  of  the  fire 
were  visible,  though  how  far  the  green,  unburnt 
forest  might  extend,  none  of  tliem  could  know. 
This,  however,  did  not  trouble  them  in  the  slight- 
est, but  obeying  the  priest's  injunction  and  keep- 
ing well  within  hearing  of  one  another,  the  whole 
party  went  forward  after  their  leader. 

About  two  hours  after  they  had  disappeared  in 
the  woods,  a  solitary  pedestrian  might  have  been 
seen  slowly  wending  his  way  along  the  road  that 
leads  to  Tracadie.  He  was  rather  elderly,  and 
walked  slowly.  His  hat  was  sadly  battered,  his 
hair  was  grizzled,  and  his  face  was  of  that  com- 
plexion which  usually  denotes  the  man  of  Al'rican 
descent. 

As  this  wanderer  approached  the  place  where 
the  schooner  was  anchored,  his  pace  quickened, 
and  he  walked  onward  quite  rapidly  until  he 
reached  the  old  house.  Towards  this  he  walked, 
but  only  to  discover  that  it  was  ruined  and  de- 
serted. Upon  this  the  aged  wanderer  heaved  a 
sigh,  and  seating  himself  in  the  doorway,  gazed 
intently  at  the  schooner. 

As  he  gazed  he  suddenly  seemed  struck  by  some 
very  exciting  thought.  He  raised  his  head,  still 
sitting,  and  stared  for  a  moment  most  intently  at; 
the  schooner.    At  that  moment,  the  flag,  which  hud 


mmm 


THE   SEARCH.  275 

been  drooping,  suddenly  shook  itself  out,  and 
unfolded  to  his  astonished  gaze  the  escutcheon  of 
the  B.  O.  W.  C. 

At  this  the  aged  wanderer  bounded  up  to  his 
feet,  and  rushed  down  to  the  shore.  There  he 
stood  in  silence  for  a  time,  staring  at  the  schooner, 
until  at  length  his  recognition  of  her  was  com- 
plete. Wiiereupon  he  slapped  both  hands  on  his 
thighs,  jumped  up  in  the  air,  came  down  on  hie 
riglit  foot,  went  up  again,  came  down  on  hie  left, 
wheeled  about,  turned  about,  and,  in  fact,  indulged 
in  a  regular  breakdown. 

After  this  he  stopped,  and  burst  forth  into  long, 
loud,  vehement,  and  u[)roarious  peals  of  laughter. 

After  which  he  resumed  the*  breakdown. 

And  tiien,  once  more,  the  laughter. 

Finally,  he  began  to  bawl  to  the  schooner. 

"  Ship,  ahoy  !  Hi  yah  !  Hollo  dar  !  What  you 
bout?  Hi-i-i-i  ya-a-a-a-a-ah  !  Mas'r  Bruce  !  Mas'r 
Atta  !     Mas'r  Tom  !     Yep.     Ye-e-e-e-o-e-p  !  " 

But  as  he  called,  no  answer  came,  and  no  matter 
how  loud  his  voice  was,  or  how  eager  his  cry,  still 
no  response  whatever  was  elicited. 

"  De  sakes  ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  ef  dis  var  casium 
don't  beat  all  creation  !  Wonda  what  dey'll  say  to 
see  ole  Solomon  !  Dey're  all  oil]  suah  —  fishin  — 
course.  An  it  ain't  a  mite  ob  good  to  be  standin 
heah  yellin  my  ole  head  off.  Wonda  if  dey  had  a 
boat ! " 

Saying  this,  ho  looked  up  and  down  the  shore, 


276  FTUE   IN  THR   WOODS. 

and  saw  tlio  boat  a  little  distance  off  on  his  right, 
drawn  up  and  tio(l  to  a  tree.     The  oar  was  inside. 

So  intent  had  he  been  on  the  schooner,  that  he 
had  not  looked  about  the  house,  and  so  had  not 
seen  the  wag'on  which  was  behind  it,  or  the  horse 
which  was  ])lacidly  feeding  at  no  great  distance 
off.  But  if  he  had  seen  tliem,  they  would  have 
liad  no  interest  for  him,  except  so  far  as  they 
showed  that  people  were  using  the  house,  and  that 
the  owner  of  the  horse  would  be  back  in  the 
course  of  the  day ;  and  even  the  interest  of  this 
discovery  would  have  been  nothing;  in  comparison 
with  the  sight  of  the  Antel()i)e.  For  this  showed 
him  that  some  of  the  boys  were  liere,  and  could 
not  be  far  off,  and  would  probably  be  back  before 
dark.  With  this  conviction,  Solomon  proceeded 
to  launch  the  boat  —  a  task  which  he  accomplished 
with  little  difficulty;  after  which  he  sculled  the 
boat  out  to  the  schooner,  and  in  a  short  time  stood 
on  board. 

Arriving  here,  he  had  a  full  confirmation  of  his 
suppositions.  It  was,  indeed,  the  Antelope,  and 
there  was  no  one  on  board.  By  the  signs  all 
around,  he  perceived  that  they  could  not  have 
been  gone  long.  Bed-clothes  lay  carelessly  tossed 
about,  trunks  were  ojjen,  provisions  were  lying  on 
the  boxes  that  had  served  for  temporary  tables. 

It  was  with  a  sentiment  of  ailVctionate  recog- 
nition that  Solomon  gazed  upon  the  old  cooking- 
stove,  at  which  he  had   frequently  ofliciated  on 


THE   AGED   WANDERER.  277 

former  occasions,  wliir]i  iiad  been  iinprosscfl  upon 
his  memory  by  events  nf  such  tbrilline:  cliuracter. 
Over  that  stove  be  had  been  bowed  by  tlie  weiglit 
of  heavy  responsibib"ties,  and  upon  it  he  liad 
acliieved  some  of  the  brig-htest  triumplis  of  his 
life.  He  gazed  npon  it  lono-  and  lovingly.  He 
was  pained  to  see  the  rust  that  covered  it.  He 
touched  it,  and  with  loving  hands  he  tried  to  rub 
the  rust  off  one  of  the  griddles.  Alas  !  he  could 
not.  That  rust  had  fixed  itself  there  too  deeply 
to  be  easily  erased.  So  he  gave  up  the  attempt, 
and  wandered  back  to  the  deck,  where  he  stood 
looking  all  around  for  some  signs  of  the  ship's 
company. 

No  signs,  however,  appeared,  and  Solomon  now 
began  to  consider  how  he  ought  to  pass  the  day. 
First  of  all,  he  decided  to  make  things  look  com- 
fortable.  To  this  task  he  set  himself,  rolling  up 
the  mattresses,  putting  the  trunks  and  boxes  on 
one  side,  cleaning  the  stove  as  well  as  it  coidd  be 
cleaned,  and  arranging  the  confused  medley  of 
stores  which  they  had  brought  with  them.  At 
length  this  task  was  ended,  and  it  was  about  noon. 

All  the  rest  of  the  day  still  remained,  and  Sol- 
omon thought  that  it  would  be  a  delicate,  a  con- 
siderate, and  a  grateful  act,  if  he  were  to  prepare 
a  dinner  for  the  ship's  comj)any,  and  have  it  ready 
for  them  on  their  return.  An  examination  of  the 
stores  showed  him  various  things  which  his  skill 
could  combine  into   palatable   dishes ;  but   some* 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


If  i^  IIIIIM 

■^  1^    ill  2.2 

i  ui  IIIIIM 


1.8 


1.4    IIIIII.6 


V] 


<? 


/2 


/: 


.'^, 

i' 


^'^^yf 


0 


7 


/A 


V 


iV 


:\ 


\ 


Os 


». 


'♦^./^ 


<^ 


ie 


. 


■  >"UiW)(  Mj»m  ". 


278  FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 

thing  was  still  wanting ;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
nothing  could  so  well  supply  that  want  as  the  fra- 
grant and  aromatic  flavoi'  of  broiled  trout.  In  the 
brooks  that  meandered  through  the  surrounding 
country,  trout  were  plentiful ;  and  if  he  should 
now  go  after  some,  it  would  not  only  be  in  the  line 
of  his  duty,  but  he  would  also  be  able  to  fill  up 
the  time  in  the  pleasantest  possible  way. 

So  Solomon  prepared  his  lines,  which  he  had 
carried  in  his  pocket  ever  since  the  day  when  they 
had  started  off  after  Phil,  and  rowing  back  to  the 
shore,  he  walked  back  over  the  road  till  he  came 
to  a  stream  which  he  remembered,  for  by  that  very 
stream  he  had  made  his  escape  from  the  woods. 
Up  this  he  went,  and  having  cut  a  rod  from  the 
woods  suitable  for  his  purposes,  he  proceeded  up 
the  stream  in  search  of  fish. 

After  an  absence  of  several  hours,  he  emerged 
once  more  from  the  woods,  at  the  mouth  of  the 
stream.  An  ecstatic  smile  illumined  his  dusky 
countenance,  his  steps  were  light  ;ind  active,  and 
from  time  to  time  he  cast  proud  and  happy  glances 
at  something  which  he  carried  in  his  hand.  And, 
in  truth,  that  burden  which  he  bore  was  worthy 
of  exciting  pride  and  happiness  in  any  bosom,  for 
there,  strung  on  a  willow  twig,  were  two  noble 
salmon,  of  fine  proportions,  sufficient  for  the  din- 
ner of  a  large  company. 

With  these  Solomon  returned  to  the  schooner, 
and  in  due  time  reached  it.    He  then  prepared  the 


I 


A   BREAKDOWN.  279 

fish,  and  kindled  the  fire,  and  began  the  important 
and  exciting  business  of  cooking  them.  While 
engaged  upon  this,  however,  an  idea  seized  upon 
him  wliich  sent  him  off  into  fits,  in  the  shape  of 
one  of  those  breakdowns,  by  which  he  was  ac- 
customed to  let  ofi'  steam. 

This  was  what  he  did. 

He  undresse  1  himself 

He  looked  all  around  very  stealthily,  and  saw 
no  signs  of  any  human  being. 

Then  he  jumped  into  the  boat,  sculled  it  ashore 
to  the  place  where  he  had  found  it,  tied  it  to  the 
tree,  and  threw  the  oar  inside. 

Then  he  jumped  into  the  water,  and  swam  back 
to  the  schooner. 

Then  he  dressed  himself. 

And  then,  in  the  solitude  of  that  lonely  hold,  he 
once  more  let  off  steam,  and  proceeded  to  indulge 
in  a  breakdown,  which  was  more  prolonged,  more 
enthusiastic,  more  sustained,  more  vehement,  more 
emotional,  lore  expressive,  more  African,  more 
hilarious,  and  at  the  same  time  more  perfectly 
outrageous  and  insane  than  all  the  other  break- 
downs put  together. 

After  which  he  subsided  into  a  comparative 
calm,  and  resumed  his  professional  duties. 

Thus  the  hours  of  the  day  passed  away,  and  at 
length  evening  began  to  draw  near. 

It  was  near  sundown  when  there  emerged  from 
the  woods  the  party  that  had  gone  into  them  in 


280 


FIRE    IN   THE    WOODS. 


tlie  morning.     They  were  all  there.     None  were 
missing.     There  were  — 

The  Priest, 

Captain  Corbet, 

Mr.  Wade, 

Bruce, 

Arthur, 

Bart, 

Tom, 

Phil, 

Pat. 
They  were  not  talkative  ;  they  were  not  demon- 
strative ;  but  walked  along  in  silence.  They  came 
out  of  the  woods  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away 
from  the  house,  and  in  this  silent  and  dejected 
way  they  walked  towards  the  place  where  the 
boat  was.  Whether  that  silence  and  dejection 
arose  from  their  disnpi)ointment  at  not  finding 
Solomon,  or  simply  from  the  fatigue  of  a  long 
tramp,  with  nothing  in  particular  to  eat,  need  not 
now  be  considered ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  they 
were  silent,  and  they  were  dejected  ;  and  what  is 
more,  they  were  all  in  a  state  of  perfect  starva- 
tion. 

"The  boat  can't  take  more'n  half  of  us  at  a  time," 
said  Captain  Corbet.  "  You,  boys,  choose  among 
yerselves  who'll  go  fust." 

"  Won't  you  come  now  ? "  asked  Bart  of  the 
ppsst. 

"  O,  no,"  said  he.     "  PU  wait.     I  must  see  about 


I 


THE   GOOD   PRIEST. 


281 


my  horse.     You  go,  and  I'll  be   ready  the   next 
time." 

"  Sure  an  Til  wait  too,  an  help  ye  wid  the  horse," 
said  Pat,  who  had  so  utterly  overcome  his  fears  of 
the  "  leper  praist"  that  he  had  struck  up  a  violent 
friendship  with  him.  And  no  M-onder,  for  the 
"praist  "was  a  man  after  Pat's  ovrn  heart — warm- 
hearted, cordial,  affectionate,  brave,  and  modest; 
a  man  who  loved  his  fellow-men,  and  f^ave  himself 
up  to  them,  even  if  they  were  abhorred  lepers; 
and  who  now  was  putting  himself  to  no  end  of  far 
tigue  and  trouble  for  the  sake  of  the  lost  com- 
panion of  a  set  of  harum-scarum  boys.  Amid  all 
this,  he  never  ceased  to  cheer  them  up,  to  stim- 
ulate their  flagging  energies,  to  inspire  them  with 
hope,  to  rouse  the  manliest  feelings  of  their  gen- 
erous young  natures.  And  therefore  it  was  that 
Pat  fell  in  love  with  him. 

Cai)tain  Corbet  was  not  anxious  to  go,  and  so  it 
happened  that  Bruce,  Arthur,  Tom,  Phil,  and  Bart 
got  into  the  boat,  and  made  the  first  trip,  with  the 
understanding  that  Bruce  was  to  come  back  for 
the  others. 

The  boat  approached  the  schooner. 

As  they  drew  near  they  became  suddenly  aware 

of  an  odor  that  was  wafted  to  their  nostrils an 

odor  penetrating,  aromatic,  fragrant,  and  delicious 
beyond  all  description  to  tlieir  liimished  senses;  an 
odor  that  was  suggestive  of  some  great  banquet  ; 
an  odor  so  rich  that  these  starving  bovs  felt  as 
though  they  might  almost  feed  upon  it. 


282  FIRE  IN   THE    WOODS. 


I 

i 

i 


They  looked  up  in  astoniRhment.  They  saw- 
that  smoke  was  issniiip^  from  tlie  pipe  that  pro- 
jected above  tlie  schooner's  deck. 

Some  one  was  on  board,  and  some  one  had  made  j 

a  fire.  Some  one  was  cooking.  Wlio  was  that 
some  one  ?  How  did  he  get  on  board  ?  What  did 
it  all  mean  ? 

Sucli  were  the  questions  that  each  one  asked  |' 

himself;  bnt  none  of  tliem  spoke,  for  in  fact  tlieir 
amazement  was  too  groat  to  allow  them  to  utter 
any  audible  words.  Urnce,  who  was  sculling, 
worked  harder  than  ever,  twisting  his  head  around 
at  the  same  time  that  ho  tried  to  see  who  the 
mysterious  being  was  that  had  got  on  board  the 
schooner.  The  otlu^rs  all  stared  in  the  same  direc- 
tion ;  but  to  no  purpose,  for  no  one  was  visible. 

At  last  the  boat  touched  the  schooner's  side,  and 
they  all  clambered  upon  the  deck.  Bruce  was 
last,  and  had  to  wait  a  moment  to  fasten  the  boat. 
When  he  had  done  this  he  sprang  down  into  the 
hold. 

He  there  beheld  an  astonishing  sight.  There 
were  Arthur,  and  Bart,  and  Tom,  and  Phil,  close 
beside  him,  staring  in  silent  wonder  at  a  figure 
beside  the  cooking-stove  ;  while  the  figure  beside 
the  cooking-stove  stood  with  a  ladle  in  one  hand, 
and  a  dish  cover  in  the  other,  enveloped  in  the 
aromatic  vapor  of  a  broiling  salmon,  staring  at 
them  in  equal  wonder. 

"  Mas'r  Bart  1     Mas'r  Phil !     De  sakes  now  1 " 


Solomon's  speech.  283 

The  ladle  and  the  dish  cover  dropped  from  his 
hands.  He  had  expected  to  see  only  the  two 
Rawdons   and  Tom  ;    but    he   saw  Bart  and  Phil 

I  also.     Consequently  he  was  overwhelmed. 

j'  "  Solomon  !  "  cried  tiie  boys  ;  and  hurrying  for- 

I  ward,  they  grasped  one  afler'another  his  trembling, 

i  and  perliaps  sliglitly  greasy  hands. 

^  "  B'lubb'd  bruddrn  ob  de  Bee-see  dubble  'Socia- 

tium,"  said  Solomon  at  last,  in  a  voice  tliat  was 
tremulous  with  emotion,  and  with  slight  indica- 
tions of  an  approach  to  another  breakdown.  "  Dis 
yer's  a  great  an  shinin  casium.  De  sperinces  we 
ben  an  had  beat  all  creatium.  We  ben  a  racin  an 
a  chasin  arter  one  anoder  in  a  way  dat  makes  my 
ole  head  ache  to  tink  ob.  An  den  to  tink  ob  me 
gettin  lost,  and  de  last  ob  all  de  venters  to  hab 
youns  a  marchin  an  a  sarcliin  arter  me !  An  me  a 
huntin  roun  for  Mas'r  Bart,  an  a  comin  dis  way  on 
de  ole  schooner !  An  den  to  fine  youns  all  heah, 
in  good  helf  an  sperits  !  B'lubb'd  bruddrn,  de 
'motions  dat  'spire  dis  yer  wenebble  ole  breast  ain't 
spressible  no  ways.  Durin  de  lass  few  weeks  1 
ben  called  on  to  suffer  'flictiums,  but  I  nebber 
knowed  anytin  like  de  'citement  dat  1  now  feels  a 
surgin  an  cumulatin  inside  o'  me.  0,  you  get 
out !  Go  way,  now  !  Sakes  alive  !  Ye-e-e-e-p  !  ITi  — 
ya-a-a-a-h  !  ITi-i-i-i-i-i  — ya-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-h  !  " 
And  Solomon  here  burst  forth  in  a  breakdown 
so  tremendous  and  so  absurd,  that  the  bovs  first 
started  back,  and  then  all  burst  into  roars  of 
laughter,  and  laughed  till  they  cried. 


284 


FIRE  IN  THE   WOODS. 


After  which  Bruce  went  back  for  the  others, 
and  brought  them  to  the  schooner,  and  they  all  ate 
of  Solomon's  banquet,  and  were  refreshed ;  and  the 
priest  staid  all  night,  and  on  the  following  morn- 
ing bade  them  an  affectionate  adieu ;  and  shortly 
after  the  Antelope  spread  her  white  wings  to  the 
breeze,  and  slowly,  but  gracefully,  passed  over  the 
waters  of  Tracadie  lagoon,  to  the  outer  seas. 


I 


AWAY   FROM   TRACADIE.  285 


XXII. 

Away  from  Tracadic—  The  Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence. 
—  TJte  Bay  de  CJialeur. —  The  innumerable  Fish- 
ing Boats.  —  A  long  Harbor  —  Shliypegan.  —  The 
Acadians.  —  The  Memories  of  Grand  Pre. 

•JpT  was  a  beautiful  morning ;  tho  wind  blew  fair, 
TPj  and  the  blue  waters  of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Law- 
rence spread  far  away  .before  tlicni  as  they 
left  Tracadie.  Reunited  so  strangely  after  such 
wonderful  adventures,  they  had  not  yet  satisfied 
their  curiosity;  but  each  one  had  still  something 
to  ask  the  other.  Pat  had  to  tell  once  more  the 
cause  of  his  desertion ;  Solomon  had  to  explain  his 
wanderings;  Bart  had  another  account  to  give; 
while,  above  all,  Phil  had  to  recount,  for  the  hun- 
dredth time,  the  whole  story  of  his  adventures  in 
the  woods.  The  venerable  Corbet,  assisted  by  his 
mate.  Wade,  navigated  the  vessel ;  Solomon  re- 
sumed his  duties  in  the  hold  over  the  cooking- 
stove  ;  while  the  eager  boys  gathered  in  knots  to 
talk  over  the  inexhaustible  themes  above  men- 
tioned. 

Far  away  on  the  right  extended  the  waters  of 


286  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

the  gulf,  till  the  view  was  bounded  by  the  horizon. 
Before  and  behind  was  the  same  illimitable  pros- 
pect. But  on  the  left  lay  the  land,  —  a  hw,  wooded 
coast,  —  and  their  course  lay  i)arallel  with  this. 
Their  destination  was  the  Bay  de  ('haleur,  around 
which  they  proposed  to  take  a  cruise  ;  but  this 
proposed  cruise  seemed  now  to  promise  but  little 
in  comparison  with  the  adventures  which  one  half 
of  the  party  had  alre;idy  met  with,  and  the  for- 
tunes  of  Bart's  party,  far  from  creating  pity  in  the 
minds  of  the  other  boys,  only  excited  their  envy; 
for  there  was  not  one  of  them  who  did  not  wish 
that  he  had  been  in  the  burning  forest. 

About  midday  the  wind  grew  lighter,  and  the 
schooner's  progress  slower.  They  passed  two 
openings  that  led  into  the  bay  wiiich  divided  two 
islands  from  the  main  land.  Tlie  first  one  was  Siiip- 
pegan  Island  ;  and  the  other,  which  lay  beyond  this, 
was  called  Miscou  Island.  These  two  extended 
along  at  the  mouth  of  the  bay  in  such  a  way  as  to 
form  a  natural  breakwater.  They  sailed  past  these, 
and  by  evening  they  rounded  Point  Miscou, 
entered  the  bay,  and  as  the  wind  was  now  adverse, 
they  ancliored  for  the  night. 

The  Bay  de  Chaleur  is  about  seventy  miles  long 
and  twenty  wide.  On  account  of  the  islands  at  its 
mouth  it  is  sheltered  from  the  worst  gales,  while 
on  every  other  side  it  is  hur'tdocked.  It  thus 
becomes  a  vast  harl)or,  affording  throughout  its 
whole    extent   an    excellent    shelter   for    vessels. 


I 


THE    BAY   DE    CHALEUR. 


287 


Around  its  shores,  particularly  on  the  south,  are 
smaller  harbors,  upon  whieh  little  villag:cs  are  al- 
ready rising.  The  hay  divides  the  Province  of 
New  Brunswick  from  that  of  Quebec  ;  and  on  ac- 
count of  its  many  advantages,  it  will,  no  doubt, 
become  well  known  to  the  world  before  many 
years. 

On  the  following  morning  the  wind  clianged,and 
blew  nioi'o  favorably.  It  was  Captain  Corbet's 
design  to  go  first  to  the  settlement  of  Shi{)pegan, 
and  in  this  direction  they  now  sailed.  As  they 
went  on  their  way,  they  were  amazed  at  the  vast 
number  of  sails  that  dotted  the  surface  of  the  sea. 
They  w^ere  all  fishing  boats,  and  ap|)eared  to  be  on 
their  way  to  the  gulf  As  they  came  to  Miscou 
Gully,  which  separates  Miscou  and  Shippegan  Is- 
lands, they  saw  t";:e  fishing  boats  passing  thnmgh; 
and  further  on,  at  ^^hip])egan  Gully,  which  lies 
between  the  main  land  and  the  island  of  that  name, 
they  found  it  traversed  by  a  still  larger  number. 

"  I've  ben  in  these  here  waters,"  remarked  Cap- 
tain Corbet,  in  answer  to  some  inquiries,  "  oust  or 
twist,  afore,  an  its  allers  ben  the  same.  All  these 
craft  air  fisliin  boats ;  an  T  never  see  the  place  yet, 
in  all  my  born  days  that  can  turn  out  on  a 
pinch  sich  a  lot  of  small  fishin  craft  as  this  here 
bav." 

Two  or  three  miles  of  a  run  down  along,  narrow 
harbor,  where  the  waters  were  deep  enough  for 
large  ships,  brought  them  at  last  to  their  destinar 


288 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


tion.  A  wharf  lay  there,  at  which  the  Antelope 
drew  up,  and  the  boys  all  stepped  joyfully  ashore. 

The  village  of  Shippegan  was  a  small  settlement, 
wifh  scattered  houses  of  very  simple  construction. 
Cloie  by  the  wliarf  stood  the  most  prominent 
structure  in  the  place,  being  a  huge  saw-mill,  which 
now,  as  they  landed,  sent  i'orth  that  hissing,  cutting, 
slashing,  grinding  howl  and  uproar  characteristic 
of  such  establishments.  Towards  this  place  the 
boys  first  directed  their  steps;  and  on  reaching  it 
they  were  gi'eeted  in  a  very  pleasant  manner  by  a 
gentleman  who  introduced  himself  as  Mr.  Smith. 
lie  was  the  owner  of  the  mills,  and  though  the 
place  was  so  '-omote,  he  was  not  at  all  discontented, 
but,  on  the  contrary,  showed  an  enthusiastic  attach- 
ment to  this  country,  which  he  affirmed  to  be  the 
best  place  in  tbe  world  to  live  in.  No  sooner  did 
he  learn  the  object  of  the  party,  than  he  at  once 
began  to  give  a  glowing  account  of  the  beauties 
and  attractions  of  the  Bay  de  Chaleur.  In  par- 
ticular he  urged  them  to  visit  the  Restif  ouche 
Vallev,  at  the  extremitv  of  the  bav,  where  he 
affirmed  they  would  find  some  of  the  most  mag- 
nificent scenery,  and  some  of  the  finett  sport  in 
the  world. 

Yet  it  was  in  this  very  place  that  the  boys  found 
the  greatest  attraction,  for  Mr.  Smith  happened  to 
say,  in  a  casual  way,  that  the  people  were  Acadian 
French.  No  sooner  had  he  mentioned  that  name 
than  the  boys  asked  the  meaning  of  it.    They  were 


r 


SHIPPEGAN. 


280 


informed  that  tliose  people  were  the  descendants 
of  the  Acadians,  and  that  the  anco.-tors  of  most  of 
them  had  been  expelhMl  from  their  homes  in  Nova 
Scotia,  and  fled  to  this  phice.  Tiiis  at  once  excited 
the  deepest  interest  in  thr>ir  minds.  All  that  had 
reference  to  the  old  Aca<lians  was  most  attractive 
to  them,  and  in  the  persons  of  the  Shippei-anders 
they  hoped  to  find  reprodnced  the  forms  of  those 
gentle,  poetic,  and  simple-minded  peasants,  with 
whom  they  had  become  acqnainted  in  the  beanti- 
ful  verses  of  E van p;o line. 

This  unexpected  enthusiasm  of  the  boys  delight- 
ed Mr.  Snn'th,  who  at  once  deserted  his   saw-mill, 
and  proceeded  to  show  them  the  place.    It  was  of" 
no  very  great  extent,  and  contfiined  not  more  than 
forty  or  fifty  small  cottages.     These  were  all  built 
of  frame,  and  shingled  over.     The  road  was  gra^s- 
grown,  and  did  not  ai)pear  to  have  any  very  inti- 
mate   acquaintance  with  wheeled  vehicles.      The 
people   had   an   unmistakably  foreign  aspect,  but 
were  very  pleasant   in  their  looks  and   manners. 
The  women  wore  short  homespun  frocks,  with  a 
jacket,  and  a  head-dress  consisting  of  a  handker- 
chief of  bright  colors.     Some  of  them  were  spin- 
ning at  the  doors  of  their  cottages,  others  were 
knitting,  others   attending   to   the    duties  of  the 
dairy.     In  the   fields  were   the  men  making  hay. 
Children  laughed  and  danced,  in  their  play,  about 
the   cottage   doors.     In   the  middle  of  the"  village 
was  a  small,  simple  chapel,  with  a  cross  upheM 
X9 


;'«""'»frf  V  "  'iK    ^  "'"" 


290 


FIRE   IN  THE  WOODS. 


from  one  point  of  its  roof,  and  a  small  belfry  from 
the  other. 

As  the  party  walked  down  the  road  tlu^y  Avere 
greeted  with  pleasant  smiles,  in  which  there  were 
botli  natural  curiosity  and  kindly  welcome,  ^fr. 
Smith  spoke  to  the  people  son^e  friendly  words 
in  the  />r<^oid^  used  by  them,  which  he  seemed  to 
understand  perfectly  ;  and  the  answers,  though  un- 
intelligil)le  to  tlie  l)oys,  had  a  pleasant  meaning  to 
their  minds,  on  account  of  the  merry  laughter  and 
amia))le  faces  of  the  speakers.  The  little  chihlren 
stopped  in  their  sport  as  tlie  strangers  came  along, 
and  stood,  with  their  round,  merry  laces,  staring 
wii(h  laughing  black  eyes. 

On  the  whole,  the  boys  found  in  this  scene  all 
that  they  could  wish,  and  more  than  they  had  an- 
ticipated.  It  realized  verv  closely  the  ideas  which 
they  had  formed  from  the  description  in  Evange- 
line ;  and  Bart,  as  he  looked  around,  could  not  help 
repeating  the  well-known  woi'ds  :  — 

"There,  in  the  midst  of  its  farms,  reposed  the  Acadian  vilhige  ; 
Strongly   built  were  the   houses,  with  frames  of  oak  and  of 

ehestnut, 
Such  as  tlie   peasants  of  Normandy  built  in  the  days  of  the 

Henrys. 
There,  in  the  tranquil  evenings  of  summer,  v/hen  brightly  the 
sunset 
^,    Lighted  the  village  street,  and  gilded  the  vanes  on  the  chim- 
neys, 
Matrons  and  maidens  sat  in  snow-white  cap,  and  in  kirtles 
Scarlet,  and  blue,  and  green,  witli  distatt's  spinning  the  golden 
Flax  for  the   gossiping   looms,  whose  noisy  shuttles  within 
dours 


AN   ACADIAN   VILLAGE. 


201 


Mingled   their   sound   with  the  whir   of    tlic  wheels  and  the 

songs  of  the  nuiidens. 
Solemnly    d„wn    the  street  came  the   parish  priest,  and  the 

children 

Paused  in  their  play  to  kiss  the  hand  he  extended  to   bless 
them. 

Reverend  walked  he  among  them;  and  up  rose  matrons  and 

maidens, 
Hailing  his  slow  approach  with  words  of  affectionate  welcome. 
Then  came  the  laborers  home  from  the  field,  and  serenely  the 

sun  sank 

Down   to    his    rest,  and  twilight  prevailed.     Anon  from  the 
belfry 

Softly  the  Angelus  sounded,  and  over  the  roofs  of  the  village 
Columns  of  pale  blue  smoke,  like  clouds  of  incense  ascend- 
ing. 

Rose   from  a  hundred  hearths,  the  homes  of  peace  and  con- 
tentment. 
Thus  dwelt  togetlier  in  love  these  simple  Acadian  farmers  • 
Dwelt  in  the  love  of  God  and  of  man.     Alike  were  they  free 
from 

Fear  that  dwells  with  the  tyrant,  and  envy,  the  vice  of  repub- 
lics. 

Neither  h.cks   had  they  to  their  doors,  nor  bars  to  their  win- 
dows  ; 

But  their  dwellings  were  open  as  day  and  the   hearts  of  the 
owners. 

There  the  richest  was  poor,  and  the  poorest  lived  in  abun- 
dance." 


After  traversing  ll,e  village,  thov  appror.ched  a 
house  at  the  other  end,  which,  though  of  the  same 
simple  construction,  was  larger  and  bettor  than 
the  others.  Two  or  three  of  those  tall  poplar 
trees,  which  were  so  dear  to  the  Acadians,  grew 
in  front.     A  massive  porch  waa  before  the  door, 


292  FIRE   IN   THE   ' "OODS. 

around  wlncli  grow  a  honeysuckle.  Two  or  tliree 
barns  indicated  tlio  comfortable  circumstances  of 
the  owner.  As  they  drew  near,  they  saw  an  old 
man  sitting  in  the  porch  smoking-,  who  looked  at 
them,  and  rose  with  a  pleasant  smile.  His  figure 
was  slightly  bent,  his  hair,  mustache,  and  beard 
quite  gray,  and  his  whole  asi)ect  venerable  in  the 
extreme. 

"  It's  Benedict  Rellefontaine  !  "  exclaimed  Bart. 
"  I  thought  we'd  find  him,  too.  Benedict  Rellefon- 
taine, the  wealthiest  farmer  of  Grand  Pre.  Here 
he  is,  in  life,  dwelling  on  his  goodly  acres." 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  said  Mr.  Smith,  with  a  laugh.  "  ITis 
name  is  Grousset,  but  he'll  do  very  well  for  Belle- 
fontaine.  At  any  rate,  you  can  judge  for  your- 
selves, for  I'm  going  to  introduce  you  to  him." 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house,  and 
Mr.  Smith,  after  shaking  hands  with  the  old  man, 
introduced  the  boys.  Monsieur  Grousset  greeted 
each  one  with  a  paternal  snn'le,  and  upon  learning 
their  errand,  at  once  invited  them  all  to  stay  at 
his  house  while  they  were  in  the  village.  At  first 
the  boys  refused  ;  but  the  old  man  was  so  urgent, 
and  the  prospect  of  seeing  an  Acadian  home  was 
so  attractive,  that  they  at  length  accepted  the  kind 
invitation. 

The  resemblance  which  Bart  had  found  between 
Mr.  Grousset  and  "  Benedict  Bellefontaine  "  was, 
indeed,  sufficiently  striking  to  be  marked  even  by 
one  less  imaginative.     The  old  man,  the    house, 


■  I 


V 


t 


id^MM^MHiiMHiMiiaiiili 


mlL 


J 


grousset's  home. 


293 


i 


and  the  surroundings,  all  might  have  stood  for 
Longfellow's  description;  for  though  there  might 
be  a  diff'erence  in  minor  things,  the  general  char- 
acter  was  the  same  :  — 

"  Firmly  Imildcd  with  rafters  of  oak,  the  house  of  the  farmer 
Stood  on  the  side  of  a  liill  commanding  the  sea,  and  a  shady 
Sycamore   grew    hy   the    door,   with    a   woodbine   wreathing 
around  it. 

Rudely  carved  was  the  porch,  witii  seats  beneatii;  and  a  foot- 
path 

Led  through  an  orchard  wide,  and  disappeared  in  he  meadow. 

Under  the  sycamore  tree  were  iiives  overiiung  by  ti  pent-house 

Such  as  tiie  traveUer  sees  in  regions  remote,  by  the  road-side, 

Built  o'er  a  box  for  the  poor,  or  the  blessed  image  of  Mary. 

Fartiier  down  on   the  slope  of  the  hill  was  the  well,  with  its 
moss-grown 

Bucket,  fastened  with  iron,  and  near  it  a  trough  for  the  horses. 

Shielding  the  houst'  front  storms,  on  the  north  were  the  barns 
and  the  farm-yard. 

There  stood  the  broad- wheeled  wains,  and  the  antique  plouglis, 
and  the  harrows. 

There  were  the  folds  for  the  sheep,  and  there,  in  his  feathered 
seraglio, 

Strutted  the  lordly  turkey,  and  crowed  the  cock,  with  the  self- 
same 

Voice  that  in  ages  of  old  had  startled  the  penitent  Peter. 

Bursting  with  hay  were  the   barns,  themselves  a  village.     In 
each  one, 

Far  o'er  the  gaiile,  projected  a  roof  of  thatcli ;  and  a  staircase 

Under  the  siieltering  eaves  led  up  to  the  odorous  corn-loft. 

There,  too,  the  dove-cot  stood,  with  its  meek  and    intiocent 
inmates. 

Murmuring  ever  of  love ;  while  above,  in  the  variant  breezes, 

Numberless  noisy  weathercocks  rattled  and  sang  of  mutation. 

Thus,    at   peace    with   Gud    and   the    world,    the   farmer   of 
Grand  I're 

Lived  on  his  sunny  farm." 


^ 


294  YsRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

For  some  time  they  remained  outside,  and  Mr. 
Grousset  talked  with  them.  lie  spoke  English 
very  well,  and  seemed  to  be  a  man  of  miieh 
general  information  for  one  of  his  class,  and  in 
so  remote  a  place.  He  was  thoroughly  simple- 
minded,  however,  unworldly,  and  guileless. 

At  length  he  invited  them  all  to  come  inside. 
Mr.  Smith  excused  himself,  as  he  had  to  go  back 
to  the  mill ;  but  the  boys  entered,  and  their  host  | 

introduced  them  to  his  wife  and  granddaughter  ; 
Avho  were  in  the  house.  The  wife  was  about  the 
same  age  as  her  husband,  and  the  granddaughter 
was  about  eighteen.  Her  gentle  face  and  sweet 
smile  at  once  charmed  all  the  bovs,  who  saw  in 
her  a  very  good  representative  of  P^vangeline. 

Leaving  the  l)oys  with  his  wife  and  grand- 
daughter, the  old  man  went  out  to  give  some 
directions  about  bringing  up  the  luggage  from 
the  schooner.  The  boys  would  have  been  charmed 
to  engage  in  conversation  with  the  old  Indy  and 
the  young  "  Evangeline,"  but  unha])pily  this  was 
not  possible.  The  old  .lady  and  ^M^]vangeline " 
could  not  speak  a  word  of  English,  and  the  boys 
could  not  speak  a  word  of  French,  and  the  conse- 
quence was,  that  they  could  only  express  their 
mutual  good  feeling  by  amiable  smiles. 

Apart  from  the  regret  which  this  created  in 
their  minds,  it  was  very  pleasant  for  them  thus  to 
find  themselves  presented  to  an  Acadian  interior. 
It  seemed  as  though  they  had  been  carried  back 


t 


I 


grousset's  home. 


295 


i 


i 


it 


into  the  past,  and  suddenly  ])liinge(l  into  the  midst 
of  that  ohi  Acadian  life  wjiicli  all  of  them  loved  so 
much  to  think  ahout  and  tnlk  ahont.  Here  were 
the  old  scenes  of  which  they  had  read  —  the 
villao-e  — the  house  —  the  Acadinn  fanner  — his 
family  — and  the  crowiu'ng-  grace  of  all,  the  gentle 
Evangeline. 

The  room  into  which  they  had  been   shown  was 
a  large  one.     At  one  end  was  an  enormous  fire- 
place, over  which  was  a  marble  |)iece  containing  a 
store  of  curiosities,  such  as  shells  and   stones   of 
peculiar  shape.     There  was  no  carpet  on  the  floor, 
but   a    number   of   home-made    rugs   covered    the 
middle  of  it.     The  chairs  were  ohbfashioned,  high- 
backed,  rush-seated  constructions,  siiigiilarly  com- 
fortable,  however,  and   in   every   way  adapted  to 
carry  out  the  intention  of  a  chaii-  to  the   utmost 
perfection.     A  large  wooden  settee  stood  opposite 
the  fireplace.      Overhead  the   raliers  were   bare, 
and  nails  were  driven  in  them,  from  which  hung  a 
store  of  domestic   goods,  such  as   skeins  of  yarn 
and  flitches  of  bacon.     The  partitions  of  the  room 
were  of  boards,  and  upon  these  were  pasted  a  great 
variety  of  pictures,  which  Mr.  Grousset  had  prob- 
ably  obtained  from  some   strav  illustrated  paper, 
that  had  penetrated  to  this  place,  and  fallen  into 
his  hands.     These   pictures  had  a  modern  charac- 
ter, which  was  somewhat  (mt  of  kee[)ing  with  the 
rest  of  the  interior :  but  after  all,  there  was  a  sim- 
plicity in  such  a  mode  of  decoration  which  took 


X 


296  FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 

away  the  sense  of  discord  that  might  otherwise 
have  been  felt. 

After  a  short  absence  the  ohl  man  returned,  and, 
seating  himself,  began  to  talk  with  the  boys,  occa- 
sionaHy  translating  to  Iiis  wife  and  granddaughter 
what  they  said.  He  asked  them  all  where  they 
came  from,  and  Bart  narrated  tlieir  recent  adven- 
tures, while  the  old  man  listened  with  the  greatest 
interest.  i 

"  We  all  belong  to  the  same  school,"  said  Bart, 
at  length,  in  answer  to  tlie  old  man's  question ;  for 
he  was  puzzled  to  know  liow  they  had  come  to- 
getlier  from  such  remote  places.  "  We  belong  to 
the  ?ame  school.  Our  school  is  in  a  place  that  you 
may  have  heard  of.     It  is  Grand  Pre." 

At  this  name  the  old  man  started  and  stared  at 
them. 

"What?  "he  asked. 

"  Grand  Pie,"  repeated  Bart. 

''  Grand  Pre  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "  Grand 
Pre  ?     What !     On  the  Basin  of  Minas  ?  " 

''  Yes." 

"  Grand  Ciel  ! "  exclaimed  the  other.  "  And  you 
have  been  there  !  And  you  have  lived  there ! 
How  easy  it  must  be  to  go  there  1  And  I  was 
never  there  — never!  Alas  !  why  did  I  not  go  to 
see  that  place  wlien  I  was  a  young  man?  " 

Plis  emotion  was  so  strong  that  his  wife  asked 
him  the  cause. 

He  explained.    And  Bart  noticed  that  the  old 


P 


THE    MANNERS    OF   GRAND    PRE.  297 

lady  and  the  granddaughter  both  looked  at  them 
with  deeper  interest  as  they  repeated  the  name  — 
Grand  Pre  ! 

"■  None  of  my  countrymen  live  there  now,  I  sup- 
pose,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  at  Bart  interrog- 
atively. 

Bart  shook  his  head. 
^  "  Ah,  I  thought  so,"  said  the  old  man.    "  All  gr  ne. 

[  They   had  to   go.     They  were    banished.      Tney 

j  dared  not  return  to  that  place.     They  came  back, 

j  but  could  not  get  their  homes  again.    Their  houses 

]  were   burnt  up,  and  their  farms  were  given  away 

!  to   strangers.     Ah,  Grand  Ciel !    what   injustice  ! 

J  And  they  so  good,  so  pious,  so  innocent !  " 

"  They   were    shamefully  ^^^ronged,"    exclaimed 
Bart,  in  a   burst  of  indignation,  — ''  most  shame- 
fully, most  foully  wronged  !  " 
*  "  True,"    said   the    old   man.     "  You  are   right. 

I  They   were   wronged.      They  were  robbed.     Ah, 

how  I  have  heard  my  grandfather  tell  about  that 
i  mournful  day  !     How  he  loved  that  dear  home  in 

Grand  Pro,  which  he  never  dared  to  revisit !     He 
,  was  a  young  man  when  he  was  driven  away,  and 

he  lived  to  be  an  old  man  ;  but  he  never  lost  his 
love  for  his   old  home.     He  was  always  homesick; 
never  content." 
,  "  Your  grandfather  !  "  said  Bart,  with  the  deep, 

est  interest.     ''  Did  he  live  in  Grand  Pre?" 
,v,  ''He    lived    in   Grand  Pre,"   said   the  old   man. 

J  ''  He    was  one  of  those    that   the    English   drove 

y  away." 


298  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

"  And  lie  must  luive  been  one  of  those  who 
managed  to  come  back  again,"  exclaimed  Bart, 
eagerly.  ''  I've  heard  that  a  great  many  found 
their  way  back  from  Massachusetts,  from  New 
York,  from  the  Southern  States,  and  even  from  the 
West  India  islands." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "  but  my  grandfather 
was  never  cari'ied  away.  He  escaped,  and  ran  for 
his  life.  lie  was  pursued,  and  almost  caught ;  but 
by  God's  help  he  was  saved  from  his  enemies,  and  1 1 

came  here,  where  he  lived  to  grow  c)ld." 

"  Escnped?"  said  Bart.  ''0,  how  I  wish  you 
would  tell  us  all  about  it  !  " 

The  old  man  smiled.  The  eager  faces  of  all 
the  boys  showed  how  deeply  they  were  interested  ; 
and  with  such  listeners  as  these  it  could  not  be 
otherwise  than  pleasant  to  tell  a  story. 


STORY    OF    AN    ACADIAX    EXILE.  299 


XXIII. 

TJie  Story  of  an  Acadian  Exile.  —  The  Country  in 
Flames.  —  A    dread    Discovery.  —  Pursuit.  — 
I  Flight   over  the     Water.  —  The  Bloodhound  In- 

stinct. —  Red  Sea  Waves. 

HJE  story  which  tlie  old  man  went  on  to  tell 
the  boys  was  lon<i-,  and  suhji'ct  to  frequent 
intei'rii[)tions,  partly  owin«;-  to  iiis  own  emo- 
tion, and  partly  from  the  ea^er  (juestions  of  his 
listeners.  A  direct  report  of  his  own  words  need 
not  therefore  be  given  here,  but  rather  the  mate- 
rial of  his  narrative. 

Grousset,  then,  the  grandfiither  of  their  host, 
was  a  youiig  man  at  the  time  of  the  expulsion  of 
the  Acadians.  He  was  not  married,  but  lived 
with  his  father  and  mother  in  a  place  which,  by 
close  questioning,  Bart  conjectured  could  not  have 
been  far  away  from  the  very  sj)ot  where  the  school 
stood.  As  the  old  man  had  never  been  there  iiimself, 
but  had  only  to  speak  from  hearsay,  he  could  not, 
of  course,  give  any  very  exact  description  of  local- 
ities ;  and  it  was  only  from  his  general  knowledge 
tha*,  Bart  was  able   to   draw  this  conclusion.     At 


"4 

i 


300 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


any  rate,  the  young-  Grousset  lived  hero.  There 
was  one  brother  besides  liiniself.  They  devoted 
themselves  to  iUrniin'-;,  chiefly,  but  they  also  went 
out  fishing,  whenever  any  g(jod  opportunity  pre- 
sented itself. 

Their  house  was  on  the  side  of  a  hill  which 
sloped  towards  the  I>asin  of  Minas.  In  front  were 
extensive  marshes,  beyond  which  was  a  river,  that 
emptied  into  the  bay.  Into  this  river  ran  another 
smaller  stream,  a  little  below  the  house.  The  prin- 
cipal part  of  the  settlement  was  two  or  three  miles 
away.  Tlieir  house  was  a  very  comfortable  one, 
their  farm  extensive,  and  a  thriving  orciiard  con- 
tributed something  towards  the  luxuries  of  life. 

On  that  day  Grousset  was  out  in  his  boat,  lie 
had  been  out  for  two  days  fishing.  The  fleet  of 
schooners  which  was  to  convey  the  settlers  away 
had  arrived  before  he  left,  but  he  had  no  idea 
whatever  of  their  real  intent.  He  supposed  that 
they  had  come  for  the  purpose  of  buying  corn,  or 
hay,  or  something  of  that  sort ;  and  he  regarded 
them  simply  as  a  probal)le  market  where  he  could 
sell  his  fish.  With  this  belief  he  spent  much 
longer  time  than  usual,  hoping  to  fill  his  boat,  and 
thereby  effect  a  larger  sale. 

In  the  course  of  his  fishing,  he  had  gone  well 
over  towards  the  other  side  of  the  bay ;  and  when 
at  length  he  started  on  the  return  voyage,  much 
time  was  taken  up,  and  he  could  not  go  more  than 
half  way.     He  anchored  for  that  night,  and  very 


THE  COUNTRY  IN  FLAMKS. 


301 


early  on  tlie  Ibl lowing;-  day  resinned  his  honiewai-d 
progress.  As  lie  drew  nearer,  lie  was  astonished 
to  find  p^'rcat  elouds  of  smoke  roiiiii};-  over  the 
whole  eountry  where  the  (Jnmd  Pre  settlement 
stood.  He  could  not  understand  it.  At  first  ho 
thou,ii:ht  it  was  the  woods  ;  hut  as  he  drew  nearer, 
he  saw  that  the  smoke  came  from  the  cultivated 
parts,  a4j(l  not  f'rfun  the  woods.  'I'his  j)u/zled  him 
at  first.  He  had  intended  to  sail  at  once  for  the 
moutii  of  the  (iaspereanx  River,  where  the  fleet 
was;  but  these  stranu-e  and  unaccountable  appear- 
ances excited  the  (leepe-;t  anxiety  and  alarm,  and 
drove  all  thou<:,ht  of  tratlic  and  money-making-  out 
of  his  mind.  He  chanj^'ed  thw  boat's  course,  there- 
fore, and  steered  straij^iit  for  his  own  home;  for 
there,  as  well  as  elsewhere,  the  smoke  clouds  arose, 
and  the  terrible  C()nflaj2:ration  seemed  to  have  ex- 
tended over  his  father's  fi(dds. 

Headin<^  thus  towards  his  own  home,  full  of  fear 
and  anxiety,  he  drew  ever  nearer,  but  only  to  find 
his  anxiety  deepened  as  his  progress  increased. 
Nearer  and  nearer  still  he  came,  until  at  last  he 
could  see  that  e\ery  house  and  every  bai'u  had 
disappeared  from  the  face  of  the  country.  The 
fire  was  not  accidental  —  it  had  evidently  been 
done  on  purpose;  but  ihis  discovery  was  still 
more  per[)lexing,  for  he  could  not  imagine  any  pos- 
sible cause  that  could  give  rise  to  such  a  deed. 

The  rising  tide  bore  him  onward  ra])idly,  and 
soon  his  boat  floated  up  that  river  that  ran  past  his 


302  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

lather's  farm.  ^  There  rose  the  hill-slope  where  his 
father's  house  and  out-hoiises  had  once  stood;  but 
now  the  house  and  out-houses  had  all  vanished, 
and  over  the  surface  of  the  hill  were  spread  the 
hlack  ti-aees  of  the  devastating  fires.  Nor  was  the 
desolation  eonfined  to  this  place.  It  extended 
eveiTuhcre.  Every  building  had  disappeared. 
Every  liunian  habitation  had  vanished.  The  tire 
had  spared  nothing.     Ail  had  gone. 

Grousset  stood  in  his  boat,  gazing  with  looks  of 
horror  upon  the  scene,  altogether  bewildered, 
overcome  by  this  sudden  blow,  wondei-ing  in  his 
bewilderment  what  might  be  the  fate  of  his  rela- 
tives, wondering  where  his  father  was,  and  his 
mother,  and  whether  behind  this  conflagration 
there  could  possibly  lurk  some  other  calamity. 
With  such  feelings  as  these  he  floated  on,  and  did 
not  even  seek  to  bring  his  boat  to  the  shore. 

Suddenly  a  loud  cry  came  to  his  ears.  Looking 
in  the  direction  whence  the  cry  came,  he  saw  a 
figure  crawl  stealthily  forth  from  a  mud  gully,  and 
wave  his  hands  towards  him.  Then  the  cry  was 
repeated  — 

"  Pierre  !  " 

Grousset  recognized  the  voice.  It  was  his 
brother  Paul.  At  once  he  directed  the  boat  to- 
wards the  place,  which  he  reached  in  a  few  min- 
utes. His  brother  plunged  into  the  water,  seized 
the  boat,  clambeied  in,  and  then  implored  him  to 
turn  and  fly. 


.. 


A    DRKAD    niSfOVPRY.  303 

His  brother  Piiul  was  palo  as  doatli,  jiixl  wj'.s 
covered  with  mud  t'nmi  head  to  foot,  i'icne  was 
so  horrified  by  all  tliat  he  had  s(>('ii,  and  by  his 
brother's  appearance,  tiiat  lie  eoukl  scarcely  g'asp 
out  a  question  about  it. 

"Fly!  fly!"  cried  Paul,  "or  we're  lost!  It's 
the  English  !  They've  burned  all  the  settlement, 
and  seized  the  })eople  !  'I'hey  are  carrying'  tliiMii 
away  to  another  country  as  slaves  !  Father  and 
mother  are  gone'  I  was  a  little  late  at  the  place, 
and  managed  lO  escape.  But  fly  !  fly  !  ibr  tliev 
are  scouring  the  country,  and  if  they  see  us,  we 
are  lost !  " 

At  this  frightful  intelligence  Pierre's  first  im- 
pulse was  to  join  his  father  and  luother,  and  sull'er 
with  them  ;  but  the  impulse  passed  away,  and  the 
thought  of  the  horrors  of  slavery  and  exile  do.- 
terred  him.  Flight  was  now  his  only  t'lought  — 
flight  instant  and  inunediate.  'I'he  boat's  head  was 
turned,  and  Pierre  now  sought  the  bay  as  eagerly 
as  a  short  time  before  he  had  sought  the  shore. 

And  now,  as  Pierre  retraced  his  course,  he  soon 
perceived  that  he  was  discovered.  Over  the 
marshes  a  number  of  men  came  running.  They 
were  dressed  in  red  coats,  and  by  this,  even  when 
far  away,  they  could  easily  be  recognized  as  Fng- 
lish  soldiers.  They  gesticulated  wildly  towards 
him,  and  finally,  on  reaching  the  l)ank  of  the  river, 
they  discharged  their  muskets  at  the  boat.  I>ut 
by  that  time  the  fugitives  had  passed  beyond  their 


ii' 

k 


304 


FIRE    IN    THE  WOxODS. 


re«icli,  and  the  sliots,  tliou.di  fast  and  fnrions,  did 
no  diiina<2:o,  l)ut  only  nr_!2,cMl  tlicm  on  to  swifter 
flijU'Iit,  if  possible;  and  to  a('(;oin{)lisli  this,  tl»e  two 
brothers  sei/i'd  the  oai's,  and  son«;'ht  by  rowing  to 
make  greater  speed. 

Tlie  ])ui-sners  stood  for  a  time  as  tliongli  baflled, 
and  then  hnrried  away  back  to  the  rising  grountl. 

"They'll  pnrsnc*  ns,"  said  PanI,  gloomily. 

"  O,  no,"  said  Pierre. 

"  They'll  pnrsne  ns,''  said  Panl  once  more,  obsti- 
nately ;  <'  you  don't  know  their  malignity.  They 
will  not  let  one  of  ns  escape.  They  have  gone  for 
a  boat." 

Pierre  said  nothing.  After  what  had  occnrred, 
how  conld  he  hope  for  any  forbearance  on  the 
part  of  his  enemies?  There,  as  he  sat  rowing, 
appeared  fnll  before  him  the  blackened  fields  of 
liis  father's  farm,  the  gannt  chimney  that  rose 
above  the  rnins  of  the  honse  where  he  was  born. 

For  some  time  the  two  brothers  ])nlled  at  the 
oars,  with  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  desolated 
shore,  spenking  not  a  word,  for  the  hearts  of  both 
were  too  fnll.  Pierre  did  not  seek  as  vet  to  know 
the  particnliirs  of  the  dread  trngedy  whose  residts 
Panl  had  ali'eady  stated,  nor  did  Pnnl  care  to  say 
anything  more  about  an  event  upon  which  he 
Bcarcely  dared  \(\  think  :  so  both  pulled  on  in  si- 
lence, until  at  length  a  cry  from  Paul  startled  his 
brother. 

"  They  have  a  boat !  They  are  chasing  us  ;  "  he 
cried.     "  They  are  coining  out  of  the  creek  I  " 


a 


1 


FLIGHT   OVKR   TIIK    WATKR. 


305 


While  he  was  speaking  Pierre  saw  it.  lie  saw 
a  boat  sliootiiig  out  from  a  ereek  whicli  enif>tie(l 
into  the  river.  They  had  aheady  passed  its  mouth, 
and  the  l)oat  was  luUy  a  mile  behind  them  ;  but 
still  it  seenied  too  near  tor  safety,  and  almost  too 
near  for  ho})e.  They  understood  all  at  onee.  The 
soldiers,  intent  on  eapturing  them,  had  hurried 
buck  to  the  ereek  where  the  bt)ats  usually  lay,  and 
one  of  these  they  had  seize(h  It  was  a  boat  like 
their  own,  and  in  it  there  were  a  half  dozen  sol- 
diers, armed,  and  full  of  the  bloodhound  instinct 
of  pursuit.  Their  own  boat  was  loaded  down  with 
fish,  and  even  the  aid  of  the  oars  did  not  seem 
su(lii;ient  to  draw  them  away  j'rom  their  pursuers. 

There  was  one  thing  whieh  had  to  be  done  im- 
meibately,  and  this  thing  was  suggested  simultane- 
ously to  the  minds  of  both  of  them.  They  must 
lighten  their  boat  at  all  lia/ards.  'I'he  fish  were 
useless  now;  worse  —  tlu^y  were  an  imix'diment. 

"Over  with  them!"  shouted  Pierre,  still  rowing 
with  one  hand  while  he  Ibing  out  the  Hsh  with  the 
other.  \h\t  Paul  had  already  begun  to  do  that 
very  thing.  Hearing  I'ierre's  words  he  passed  his 
oar  over  to  his  br(»tlier,  and  tluui,  gatluuing  tho 
Hsh  up  in  both  hands,  he  Hung  them  out  of  the  boat 
by  armfuls.  M(>anwhile  Pierre  rowed  with  all  his 
strength,  and  at  the  same  time  the  wind  never 
eeased  to  bear  the  boat  alontr.  I>ut  the  same  wind 
bore  onward  alter  them  the  boat  ol'  their  pursuers, 
and  the  two  brothers  watched  with  anxious  eyes 
20 


'J'*»f1f;    ,"",1  ■^»'^»'T*:-T™= 


30G 


FIRE    IN   THE   WOODS. 


the  progress  of  those  who  followed  on  tlieir 
track. 

At  last  all  the  fish  were  flung  overboard  except 
about  half  a  dozen,  which  were  reserved  for  food. 
They  felt  the  benefit  of  this  very  soon.  Gradually 
the  distance  between  themselves  and  their  pursuers 
increased.  By  this  time  also  the  tide  had  turned, 
and  swept  them  on  at  an  ever  accelerated  rate  of 
progress ;  and,  although  the  same  tide  swept  their 
enemies  along  after  them,  still  their  own  speed 
was  the  greater,  and  every  minute  served  to  in- 
crease their  chance  of  escape.  For  the  boats  were 
about  e{]ual  in  speed,  and  while  their  boat  only 
had  two  inside,  the  other  carried  six,  and  therefore 
was  over  weighted  in  this  race. 

Several  hours  passed  away,  and  the  united  action 
of  wind  and  tide  had  carried  onward  pursuers  and 
pursued  many  miles  into  the  bay.  There  rose 
before  them  the  frowning  cliffs  of  Blomidon,  and 
past  this  the  current  was  setting  in  a  swift  stream, 
by  which  they  were  borne  along.  Now,  too,  the 
wind  died  away,  and  the  tide  alone  remained.  This 
caused  i  change  for  the  worse.  Thus  far  the 
lightness  of  their  boat  had  fa\ored  them,  so  that 
their  pursuers  liad  fallen  behind  as  much  as  four 
or  five  miles  ;  but  now,  when  it  came  to  drifting,  this 
dilference  was  no  longer  in  their  lavor,  and  the 
enemy,  either  IVom  liaving  caught  a  stronger  cur- 
rent, or  from  some  other  reason,  seemed  to  be  slow- 
ly gaining  upon  them. 


f^' 


^■^^^^■••"'^^^WP^ 


mg^mm 


FLIGHT    OVER   THE   WATER. 


307 


The  question  now  arose,  what  was  to  be  done  V 
They  could  easily  have  landed  here,  scaled  the 
cliff,  and  escaped  in  the  woods.  But  that  was  not 
to  be  thought  of  except  as  a  last  resort.  At  all 
hazards  they  wished  to  keep  the  boat.  If  they 
fled  to  the  woods  their  boat  would  be  captured, 
and  their  fate  might  be  a  miserable  death.  With 
the  boat,  however,  they  might  hope  not  only  to 
save  their  lives,  but  perhaps  to  follow  their  friends, 
perhaps  to  rescue  them ;  or  at  least,  if  such  a  thing 
as  that  should  be  beyond  their  powers,  they  could 
choose  some  new  home,  and  have  tiie  means  of 
living  from  the  water,  till  the  land  should  be  ready 
to  yield  them  sustenance.  For  these  reasons  tliey 
resolved  to  cling  to  the  boat,  and  fly  as  long,  and 
as  far,  as  possible. 

But  however  eager  they  were  in  their  determina- 
tion to  escape,  the  enemy  showed  a  resolve  to 
pursue  which  was  as  obstinate  as  theirs.  As  they 
floated  along  tliey  saw  the  other  boat  still  follow- 
ing. The  tide  bore  them  on,  in  its  course,  down 
through  the  Straits  of  Minas,  beneath  the  frowning 
cliffs  that  rise  gloomily  on  one  side,  where  Blomidon 
overhangs  the  water,  past  the  rocks  all  covered 
with  sea-weed,  past  long,  bare  sand  flats,  past 
the  giant  cliffs,  wliich,  torn  and  riven  by  earth- 
quake  or  by  tempest,  rise  at  the  extremity  of  the 
straits,  and  onward  into  the  wide  Bay  of  Fund" 

They  had  hoped  that  in  this  place  a  breeze  .  ,)-,  i 
arise,  but   their   hopes   were    disappointed,     ^iie 


f-' 


K^ 


"■^ 


308 


PIRE  IN  THE  WOODS. 


water  Wcas  smooth,  and  they  were  borne  onward 
over  an  unruffled  surface,  by  the  strong  tide,  far 
down.  Yet  though  there  was  no  wind,  they  at 
length  encountered  something  which  to  them,  in 
tliat  extremity,  was  no  less  welcome.  Before  them 
rose  a  wall  of  mist,  shutting  out  all  the  scene 
beyond,  hiding  even  the  Haute,  whicli  lay  so  near. 
Into  the  entrance  of  this  dense  log  bank  they  were 
borne  by  the  tide  ;  and  soon  all  surrounding  scenes, 
all  prospect  of  rock,  and  cliff,  and  distant  shore, 
and  overhanging  sky,  and,  all  sight  of  their  pur- 
suers, were  snatched  from  their  eyes,  and  nothing 
remained  but  an  all-sui-j-ounding  blank,  an  opaque 
wall  of  unpenetrable  tog. 

At  any  other  time  such  an  occurrence  would 
have  plunged  them  into  despair,  but  now  it  raised 
them  out  of  despair  into  hope.  At  first  they 
thought  of  rowing  in  some  direction,  but  a  little 
discussion  served  to  dismiss  this  thought  from 
their  minds.     In  the  first  place,  they  could  not  tell  | 

in  which  direction  to  row  ;  and  in  the  second  place,  I 

they  thouglit  that  their  pursuers  would  probably 
take  to  their  oars,  and  if  so,  their   best  plan  of  t 

escape  w^ould  be  to  drift.  ^ 

Hours  had  passed  nway  since  their  flight  com- 
menced, and  at  length  darkness  came  on.  That 
darkness  was   most  intense.     There  was   not  the  | 

slightest  light  to  alleviate  the  gloom.     Still  even  ,' 

this  darlxiioss  wms  ;i  relief,  for  they  felt  more  secure.  ' , 

In  spite  of  the  liopo  which  they  tried  to  entertain  | 


FLIGHT    OVER   THE   WATER.  309 

that  their  enemies  had  given  up  the  chase,  they 
could  not  get  rid  of  a  dark  fear  that  they  were 
still  pursued,  and  a  foreboding  that  with  the  return 
of  light  they  might  see  tliem.  And  as  the  dark- 
ness seemed  to  bring  safety,  they  bore  it  with 
patience,  and  resignation,  and  liope. 

All  night  long  they  drifted  in  this  thick  dark- 
ness.    At   last    light  came  again.     But   the  light 
was  dull  and  obscure,  for  the  fog  still  enveloped 
them.     By  this  time  they  had  lost  all  idea  of  local- 
ity, and  could  not  conceive  in  what  direc^tion  they 
were   drifting.     They  knew,  however,  that  while 
the  falling  tide  would  carry  them  down  the  bay, 
the  refluent  tide  would  bear  them  l)ack.  and  there- 
fore hoped,  when  the  i'o}!;  lifted,  that  they  would 
find   themselves   somewhere   near  tlie  land.     The 
day  that  followed  was  a  gloomy  day  indeed.     The 
water  was    glassy.     There  was    not  a   breath   of 
wind.     Having  nothing  by  which  to  judge  of  their 
motion,  they  seemed  to  be  without  motion,  and  to 
be  floating  on  a  stagnant  sea.     There  was  no  sight 
to  meet  their  eyes  throuuh  the  dense  surrounding 
fog.  and  no  sound  came  to  their  ears  through  the 
wide,  surrounding  stillness. 

At  last  the  evening  of  that  day  caine  on,  and 
the  fog  lessened.     Land   appeared'  on  either  side 
jl  <jf  them.     Gradually  the  atmosphere  cleared,  and 

to  their  amazement  they  found  thoinselves  drifting 
up  a  long  channel  that  Beemed  like  a  river.  Up 
this  river  the  tide  seemed  to  run,  carrying  them 


\ 


^^0        '  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

witli  it  at  fi  groat  rate  of  speed.  As  they  went  on 
the  shores  ap[)roached  more  closely,  the  stream 
grew  narrower  and  more  winding;  but  still  the 
swift  waters  lost  nothing  of  their  speed.  The 
shores  on  either  side  were  a  wilderness,  covered 
with  the  primeval  forest,  with  not  a  sign  of  any 
human  habitation.  The  strangeness  of  the  place 
and  the  suspense  which  they  felt  at  finding  them- 
selves here  prevented  them  from  trying  to  land. 
They  rather  chose  to  drift  onward,  and  allow  them- 
selves to  be  borne  wherever  the  current  might 
carry  them. 

At  length  darkness  began  to  come  on,  and  the 
fugitives  thought  that  they  had  drifted  far  enough. 
They  therefore  flung  out  the  rude  anchor  which 
they  had  in  the  boat.  It  caught,  and  their  prog- 
ress was  stopped.  They  felt  safe  at  last.  Here, 
in  this  remote  place,  no  pursuer  would  follow  them, 
and  they  might  rest.  They  had  not  slept  during 
all  the  time  of  their  flight,  and  were  very  greatly 
fatigued.  It  seemed  to  them  that  the  boat  was 
safer  than  this  unknown  shore,  and  to  sleep  there 
at  anchor  floating  on  the  water  would  be  better 
than  in  those  unknown  Avoods  where  wild  beasts 
or  prowling  Indians  might  be  lurking ;  and  thus, 
as  soon  as  the  boat  came  to  anchor,  they  flung 
themselves  down  in  the  bottom,  and  were  soon  in  a 
sound  sleep. 

Their  sleep  was  somewhat  disturbed,  and  early 
on  the  following  day  they  awaked.     Pierre  was  up 


i* 


FLIGHT   OVER   THE   WATI<]R,  *        311 

first,  and  he  looked  about  in  surprise.  It  was 
about  dawn,  and  in  that  morning  twilight  sur- 
rounding objects  were  as  yet  indistinct.  The  first 
thing  that  he  noticed  was,  that  the  boat  was 
aground.  The  channel  u{)  which  tlioy  had  drifted 
on  the  preceding  evening  was  now  bare  of  water 
—  a  wide  expanse,  like  those  red  mud  flats  of 
Grand  Fr6  with  which  he  was  so  familiar.  These 
flats  extended  here  above  and  below  for  nn'les,  and 
on  either  side  they  ran  for  a  great  distance  before 
they  touched  the  shore. 

Suddenly,  in  the  nrdst  of  this  survey,  Pierre 
caught  sight  of  an  object  which  made  his  blood  run 
cold,  and  caused  his  heart  for  a  few  moments  to 
stop  its  beating.  It  was  a  dark  object  that  ap- 
I  peared,  on  the  mud  flats,  about  a  mile  away,  down 

the  channel. 

It  was  a  boat ! 

That  boat,  like  his  own,  had  grounded,  and  lay 
there  on  her  side. 

Could  that  be  the  boat  of  their  pursuers  ?  Had 
they  been  followed  all  this  time,  and  all  this  dis- 
tance, so  remorselessly  ?  It  seemed  like  it.  Per- 
haps his  pursuers  had  become  bewildered  by  the 
I  fog,  or  perhaps  they  had  allowed  themselves  to 

drift,  as  the  surest  way  of  keeping  near  to  the  fugi- 
tives ;  but  whatever  the  reason  was,  it  seemed  as 
though  the  same  currents  that  had  borne  them 
away  had  carried  the  pursuers  after  them. 

And  there  it  lay  I     It  grew  lighter  as  he  looked, 


312  FIRE  IN   THE   WOODS. 

and  then,  as  if  to  confirm  his  worst  fears,  there 
suddenly  appeared  something  which  put  an  end  to 
all  doubt. 

A  figure  stood  up  in  that  boat.  It  was  light 
enough  to  see  the  color  of  his  dress. 

It  was  red. 

Scarcely  had  he  seen  this  than  other  figures 
appeared  —  red-coated  figures.  They  stood  up. 
Pierre  could  no  longer  doubt.  They  were  English 
soldiers.  Even  as  he  looked  they  began  to  leap 
out  from  the  boat,  and  run  towards  him.  As  he 
looked  his  eyes  caught  sight  of  something  beyond 
—  something  white  —  like  a  long,  low,  white  wall ; 
and  from  that  far  distance  there  arose  a  low,  dron- 
ing sound,  which  struck  a  strange  terror  into 
his  soul. 

In  a  moment  he  roused  his  brother.  Paul  stood 
up,  and  stared  in  the  direction  where  Pierre  was 
pointing.  He  saw  the  wide,  flat  river  bed  uncov- 
ered.    He  saw  the  red-coated  English  soldiers. 

Pierre  looked  all  around  to  find  the  best  place 
for  refuge. 

On  his  right  there  projected  a  wooded  cliff,  its 
sides  rising  precipitously  for  fifty  or  sixty  feet,  and 
its  summit  covered  with  fir  trees.  This  was  the 
nearest  land.  If  they  ran  towards  this  they  might 
get  out  of  sight  of  their  pursuers  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  plunge  into  the  woods  at  a  place  where  the 
cliff  ended  and  the  land  sloped  gradually  down. 
To  this  place  he  directed  Paul's  attention;  and 


1 


A 


1 


THE   BLOODHOUND   INSTINCT.  313 

then  culling  upon  him  to  follow,  ho  leaped  from 
the  boat.  Paul  followed.  The  two  brothers  ran 
with  their  utmost  speed  over  the  treacherous  mud 
flats  towards  the  shore  behind  the  point. 

Up  the  channel,  over  the  same  treacherous  mud 
flats,  came  their  pursuers,  who,  at  tliis  unexpected 
si^'ht  of  their  prey,  seemed  to  be  lilled  with  fresh 
fury.  Seeing  tliat  prey  about  to  escape,  they  fired 
after  them.  Report  after  report  sounded  through 
the  air  and  echoed  along  the  shore. 

Six  shots  were  thus  fired,  and  then,  as  the  last 
echo  died  out,  there  arose  another  sound.  It  was 
that  low,  droning  sound  which  had  come  to  Pierre's 
ears  before  he  left  the  boat ;  but  the  sound  was 
louder,  and  deeper,  and  nearer,  and  more  dreadful. 
It  was  a  sound  of  wrath.  It  was  the  voice  of 
many  waters  i  It  was  the  sound  of  a  pursuer  more 
terrible  than  man  —  the  sound  of  the  pitiless  march 
of  innumerable  waves. 

The  cliff  rose  overhead.  TIiov  had  reached  it ; 
but  before  tliey  passed  beliind  it  tiiey  turned  one 
glance  at  their  pursuers.  In  that  one  glance  a 
sight  revealed  itself  which  was  never  forgotten. 

Far  down  arose  a  wall  of  white  foam,  toi-med 
by  the  advancing  tidal  wave  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy 
—  a  dread  mass  of  surging  billows,  rolling  up  the 
channel,  extending  all  the  way  across.  At  the 
moment  wlien  they  looked  it  had  cauuht  the  boat 
and  overwhelmed  it,  and  then,  in  hungry  fury,  ad- 
vanced towards  the  soldiers. 


314  FIRE  IN   THE   WOODS. 

They  had  heard  it !  They  had  seen  it  —  that 
terrible  pursuer,  the  tremendous,  the  inevitable ! 
They  stood  still  in  horror.  Escape  was  impossible. 
On  came  the  wave.  Even  the  fugitives  stood  for  a 
moment  overwhelmed  with  the  horror  of  that 
spectacle. 

On  came  the  wave  ! 

The  wall  of  white  foam  rose  high.  It  rushed  on- 
ward. It  reared  its  curling  crest.  It  fell  in 
thunderous  fury  upon  the  wretched  victims  of  its 
wrath.  One  wild,  despairing  yell  burst  forth,  and 
then  all  sounds  were  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the 
rolling  waves. 

The  brothers  fled.  They  reached  the  sloping 
bank,  awl  clambered  to  a  place  of  safety,  from 
which  they  looked  with  pallid  faces  upon  those 
waters,  wliich,  like  the  waves  of  the  Red  Sea,  had 
saved  the  fugitives  by  overwhelming  the  pursuers. 

After  this  they  wandered  through  the  woods  for 
some  days,  and  finally  met  with  friendly  Indians, 
with  whom  they  went  to  the  Miraraichi. 

Such  is  the  substance  of  M.  Grousset's  nar- 
rative. 


THE    AMERICAN   INDIAN    IN   A    NEW   LIGHT.       315 


XXIV. 

The  American  Indiaii  in  a  new  Light.  —  The  false 
Guide. —  Solomon  prepares  for  Vengeance.  —  The 
Indian  Chief.  —  Fall  Explanations. 

>HAT  evening  tliey  had  a  bountiful  repast, 
after  vvliicli  they  slept  well,  and  on  the 
following  morning  an  equally  bountiful 
breakfast  fortified  them  for 'the  work  of  the  day. 
Soon  after  this  they  started  down  to  the  schooner 
to  talk  over  their  plans  for  the  future. 

Close  by  the  wharf  stood  the  mills  already  men- 
tioned, where  now  arose  the  tumult  and  bustle 
generally  prevalent  there.  Into  the  precincts  of 
this  mill  the  boys  strolled,  and  looked  about  upon 
the  busy  scene. 

The  scene  was  to  Bart  one  of  the  most  familiar 
possible,  for  all  his  early  life  had  been  passed  in  a 
city  of  saw-mills,  and  the  present  occasion  offered 
nothing  that  was  new.  To  the  other  boys  it  was 
also  more  or  less  familiar,  and  it  was  rather  the  ani- 
mation of  the  spectacle  before  them  than  its  novelty 
which  attracted  them.  One  thing,  however,  there 
certainly  was  which  seemed  to  all  of  them  most 
singular  and  unaccountable. 


316  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

As  they  looked  upon  tlio  men  wlio  were  at  work 
in  the  mill  and  in  the  mill  yard,  they  noticed  that 
one  after  another  of  them  was  an  Indian.  To  see 
an  Indian  en^i^ap^ed  in  such  work  as  this  seemed 
astonishing,  for  it  had  been  a  fixed  belief  in  their 
minds  that  no  Indian  will  engnge  in  continuous 
hard  labor ;  yet  here  was  a  fact  which  contra- 
dicted all  former  opinions.  What  was  more  sur- 
prising was  the  gradual  discovery  that  not  one,  or 
two,  or  a  few,  but  the  whole  gang  of  men  at  work 
in  and  about  the  mill  were  of  the  same  race. 

They  worked  doggedly,  ploddingly,  industrious- 
ly ;  some  floating  logs,  some  carrying  deals,  some 
attaching  the  ropes  to  those  logs  that  had  to  be 
hauled  up  ;  all  busy,  none  idling. 

"  I  never  knew  that  Indians  would  work,"  said 
Bart  to  Mr.  Smith. 

"  These  Indians  work  very  well,"  said  he. 
'^  Yes ;  and  that  is  what  is  so  astonishing.  Of 
course  I  knew  that  Indians  will  go  through  any 
amount  of  fatigue  in  the  course  of  a  hunting 
expedition,  but  I  have  always  heard  that  they  are 
incapable  of  hard  work." 

"  Well,  as  to  being  incapable,  I  have  my  doubts 
about  that,"  said  Mr.  Smith.  "  They  cannot  be 
incapable  ;  they  are  only  unwilling.  Continuous 
drudgery  like  this  does  not  suit  them  as  a  general 
thing.  But  these  Indians  don't  object.  They  work 
hard,  never  complain,  and  I  have  never  had  any 
men  who  have  given  so  little  trouble." 


' 


THE   AMERICAN   INDIAN   IN   A   NEW    LICIIT.       317 

"  It  seoms  very  odd,  tliouglj,"  said  Burt.  "  I'm 
eure  no  otlior  Indijuis  in  this  country  would  bo 
willing  to  work  in  tliis  way.  No  amount  of  wages 
would  tempt  them." 

"  No.  That's  true.  Tlie  fact  is,  these  Indians 
belong  to  a  different  tribe." 

"A  different  tribe?" 

"Yes.  The  Indians  that  you  arc  acquainted 
with,  who  live  in  Nova  Scotia  and  the  greater  part 
of  New  Brunswick,  are  called  the  Micmacs. 
These  are  called  the  Milicetes.  The  language  of 
the  two  tribes  is  altogether  distinct ;  their  tradi- 
tions, manners,  and  customs  also  vary  in  many  par- 
ticulars. Between  the  two,  tribes  there  is  no 
intercourse  and  no  friendly  feeling  whatever. 
You  see  hero  with  your  own  eyes  how  dilfercnt 
they  must  be  from  the  other  tribe,  with  which  you 
are  ac(piainted." 

Midday  came,  and  as  the  steam  whistles  sounded, 
iiA  hands  leit  off  work  and  prepared  for  dinner. 
Their  dinners  had  been  brought  to  them  by  the 
squaws  of  the  tribe  who  had  come  to  the  mill 
bringing  their  pappooses  with  them.  Men,  women, 
and  children  then  sat  in  a  circle,  in  the  midst  of 
the  mill  yard,  and  engaged  in  their  midday  repast, 
while  the  boys  looked  on  curiously  from  a  distance. 
Among  these  Indians  there  was  one  who  had 
come  up  with  the  women,  and  seemed  to  have 
8ome  sort  of  authority.  He  did  not  work  in  the 
mill,  but  had  the  air  and  tone  of  one  giving  direc- 


318  FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 

tions,  to  which  the  others  yielded  assent  or  obedi- 
ence. There  was  something  in  this  Indian  whicli 
seemed  familiar  to  Bart,  though  lio  could  not 
account  for  it.  He  was  the  first  who  noticed  him, 
and  he  mentioned  it  to  the  others  ;  hut  they  were 
equally  unable  to  do  so.  At  length,  '-is  several  of 
the  boys  grouped  themselves  together,  it  seemed 
to  Bart  as  though  the  Indian  had  some  recognition 
of  them.  There  were  Bart,  and  Phil,  and  Pat,  and 
the  two  Rawdons ;  and  as  the  Indian  looked  up,  he 
caught  sight  of  them,  with  Bart  in  the  foreground. 
He  started,  and  then  turned  his  head  away,  and 
appeared  to  busy  himself  with  something  else. 

He  was  a  very  old  man,  somewhat  bent,  his 
face  seamed  with  a  million  wrinkles  ;  but  his 
figure  was  still  strong,  sinewy,  and  apparently 
capable  of  undergoing  fatigue  or  exertion  to  an 
indefinite  extent.  He  turned  away,  as  has  been 
said,  but  every  few  moments  he  threw  a  furtive 
glance  at  the  boys. 

And  now  it  happened  that  Solomon  came  up 
from  the  schooner  to  ask  whether  the  boys  were 
to  get  dinner  on  board  or  on  shore.  He  came  up 
to  where  the  Indians  were  seated,  and  it  was 
evident  that  they  had  never  seen  a  negro  before, 
for  the  advent  of  Solomon  created  an  extraordinary 
sensation.  The  women  drew  back,  the  children 
screamed,  the  men  stared,  and  all  gave  signs  of 
unusual  excitement.  But  among  all,  none  showed 
such  excitement  as  the  old  man  already  mentioned. 


SOLOMON   PREPARES    FOR   VENGEANCE.  319 

As  Solomon  drew  near,  he  saw  liim  first,  and 
started  to  his  feet,  staring  at  liim  witli  a  face  upon 
whicli  tliere  was  a  variety  of  contending  expres- 
sions;  curiosity,  wonder,  uneasiness,  alarm  —  all 
these  were  plainly  visible  at  the  same  time  on  that 
old  Indian's  face. 

But  the  emotion  of  the  Indian  found  its  counter- 
part in  that  wliich  was  manifested  by  Solomon,  as 
the  Indian  caught  sight  of  him  and  started  to  his 
feet.  The  attention  of  Solomon  was  arrested  by 
that  movement.  He  stopped  short,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  upon  the  Indian.  His  hands  chnched  tliem- 
selves  together  ;  his  lips  compressed  themselves ; 
his  limbs  grew  rigid ;  while  his  eyes  seemed  to 
glow  like  fire.  Again  the  old  man  was  trans- 
formed ;  again  tliat  wonderful  change  took  [)la('e 
from  apparent  feebleness,  and  even  decrepitude,  to 
something  which  seemed  like  the  bounding  vigor 
and  vehement  energy  of  barbaric  manhood.  His 
chest  heaved  ;  he  seemed  like  some  wihl  beast,  as 
he  stood  there,  gatliering  up  all  his  energies  for 
one  tremendous  s{)ring. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Indian  saw  it,  and  drew 
himself  up  to  resist  the  assault.  He  fell  back  a 
step  or  two,  and  mechanically  threw  himself  into 
an  attitude  of  defence.  His  gesture  was  seen  by 
his  companions.  They  looked  up  to  where  his 
eyes  were  turned,  and  they  marked  the  threaten- 
ing attitude  of  Solomon.  In  an  instant  every  one 
of  them  started  up  to  his  feet,  and  by  one  common 


' 


320 


FIRE   IN   THE   WOODS. 


movement  put  themselves  in  front  of  tlieir  old 
compiinion,  us  tlion^i;)!  to  guard  him  from  the 
attiiclv  of  this  unexpeeted  enemy. 

Upon  the  boys  these  sinuular  prooeedinjjjs  pro- 
duced different  effeets.  Hart  and  his  companions 
in  the  woods  at  once  recot^nized  the  truth.  The 
old  Indian  was  no  other  than  their  false  j;'uide,  who 
had  first  turned  upon  them  to  attack  them,  and 
then  fled,  leavinL>'  them  in  the  midst  of  the  track- 
less forest.  This  was  the  man  who  now  appeared 
before  them  in  the  midst  ol"  his  own  {)eople,  who 
certainly  deserved  some  })uiiishment  for  all  that 
he  had  done,  but  wlio  secnned  to  be  out  of  the 
reach  of  any  punisinnent,  unless,  indeed,  Solomon 
should  taki^  the  law  into  his  own  hands.  Hut 
Bruce  and  the  others,  who  had  never  seen  the  In- 
dian l)efore,  stood  simply  ama/ed,  not  knowing 
what  to  make  of  such  a  sin;j:ular  scene.  They  had 
heard  of  the  adventure  in  the  woods  with  the  In- 
dian p:uide,  but  what  they  had  heard  did  not  suffice 
to  afford  them  a  clew  to  tht*  affair  before  them. 

For  a  few  monu^nts  they  stood  tiius,  Solomon 
threatem'ncr,  the  Indians  scowlinir,  the  boys  look- 
in,«r  on.  Hut  Solomon,  thouii'h  poised  to  spring, 
lu^silatcd.  as  he  saw  all  tht>  enemies  before  him. 
Had  it  be(>n  only  the  old  Indian,  he  would  have 
lea)>(Ml  upon  him  at  once;  but  with  so  many  other 
Indians,  it  was  a  dill'erent  matter.  Very  natu- 
rallv,  thendbre,  Solomon  hesitated,  aiul  faltered, 
and  sank  down  from  his  high  pitch  of  fury,  at  thus 
being  confrontetl  wdth  the  impossible. 


THE   IxniAX   CfllRF. 


321 


It  was  at  tliis  juncture  tliat  Mr.  Smitli  ap 
proached.  lie  surveyed  the  scene  with  surprise 
and  anxiety,  and  walking-  forward,  liastily  he  asked 
wlia  it  all  meant.  The  advent  of  one  thuseiotiied 
with  autliority  produced  an  instantaneous  efl'eet. 
The  Indians  turned  away,  and  talked  in  low  tones 
with  one  another;  Solomon  subsided  Irom  his 
fighting-  attitude  into  one  of  vehement  denuncia- 
tion ;  and  Bart  proceeded  to  tell  Mr.  Smith  the 
whole  story. 

Mr.  Smith  listened  to  it  all  with  the  deepest  in- 
terest. 

**  It'sabominahle  of  Sam,"siiid  he,  as  TJa-t  ended, 
"and  if  it  had  been  any  one  else,  I  should  like  to 
have   him   punished.     Uut  with  Sam  it  is  dillerent, 
and  I   can   easily  exj)lain   it.     Sam  is  the  chief  of 
these  Milicetes,  and    generally  is  all  that  a  chief 
should  be.     The  only  trouble  with  him  is,  tliat,  like 
all   Indians,  he   is   fond   of  liquor.     When  he  gets 
any,  it  makes  him  simply   insane.     lie  stavs  about 
here   most   of  the   time,  and  in  this  place  he  can't 
get  a  single  drop.     Conse(piently  he  is  a  very  sen- 
sible,  dignified,   and    respectable    Indian.      lie    is 
looked  up  to  with  the  utmost  respect  by  his  ))eo- 
l)le,  and    he  and   I  agree  ])erfectly  well.     Tnibrtu- 
nately,  when  he  goi's  away,  he  generally  manages 
to   get   licpior.     He   can't  resist   temptation.     He 
went  olf,  about  a  Ibrtnight  ago,  to  Miramichi,  where 
you  found  him.     iJelure  starting  with  you,  he  sup- 
Si 


322 


FIRE   IN  THE   WOODS. 


plied  himself  with  that  unfortunate  bottle  of  liquor. 
Had  it  not  been  for  that,  you  would  have  found 
him  an  admirable  g^uide,  and  lie  would  have 
brought  you  here  without  any  difficulty.  But  his 
bottle  drove  him  crazy,  and  caused  that  wild  out- 
break. I  don't  believe  he  remembers  much  about 
it  himself.  Pie  must  have  come  straight  back  to 
Shippegan  after  leaving  you." 

This  explanation  proved  highly  satisfactory  to 
the  boys,  who  readily  forgave  the  Indian  for  an 
outbreak  tliat  had  been  j)roduced  by  such  an  un- 
foi-tunate  cause;  and  even  Solomon,  on  learning 
that  it  had  not  been  out  of  any  malicious  inten- 
tion, consented  to  forego  his  vengeance. 

After  this,  Mr.  Smith  had  some  conversation 
with  the  Indian  himself,  who,  as  he  suspected, 
remembered  nothing  about  his  outbreak  in  the 
woods. 

He  only  remembered  that  he  had  engaged  to  go 
with  the  boys,  and  had  got  separated  from  them, 
he  knew  not  how.  He  expressed  great  sorrow, 
and  tried,  in  his  broken  Englisli,  to  explain  and  to 
aj)ologize. 

Thns  this  affair  was  all  happily  settled. 

The  boys  spent  one  more  day  in  Shippegan, 
and  then  prei)ared  to  de|)art.  On  the  following 
morning  they  bade  adieu  to  Mr.  Grousset  and  his 
amiable  family,  who  begged  them,  with  great 
earnestness,  to  visit  them  again,  which  they   all 


DEPARTURE  OF  THE  ANTELOPE.       323 

promised  to  do.  Mr.  Smith  accompanied  them  to 
the  wharf,  and  shook  hands  witli  them  all  around. 
Up  wont  the  sails,  the  lines  were  cast  off,  and  tlie 
Antelope  passed  down  the  long  harbor  and  out 
into  the  bay. 


^ 


r 


AMERICAN  BOYS'  SERIES 


I. 

2. 

3. 

4. 

5- 
6. 

7. 
8. 

9- 

10. 

II. 
12. 

13- 
14. 

15- 
16. 

17. 
18. 

19. 


Eighty-five  copyright  books  for  boys  by  noted  American 
Authors 

The  l)ooks  selected  for  this  series  are  all 
thoroughly  American,  by  such  favorite  Ameri- 
can authors  of  boys'  books  as  Oliver  Optic, 
Elijah  Kellogg,  P.  C.  Ileadley,  Captain  Farrar, 
George  M.  Towle,  and  others,  now  made  for 
the  first  time  at  a  largely  reduced  price,  in  order 
to  bring  them  within  the  reach  of  all.  Each 
volume  complete  in  itself. 

Uniform  Cloth  Binding  Nkw  Cover 
Design  Illustrated  Price  per  volume 
$1.00 

Adrift  in  the  Ice  Fields    By  Capt.  Chas.  W.  Mall 
All  Aboard,  or  Life  on  the  Lake    By  Oliver  Optic 
Ark  of  Elm  Island    By  Elijah  Iv'llogg 
Arthur  Brown  the  Young  Captain    By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Boat  Club,  The,  or  the  Bunkers  of  Rippleton     By  Oliver  Optic 
Boy  Farmers  of  Elm  Island,  The    By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Boys  of  Grand  Pr^  School     By  Prof.  James  DeMille 
•'  B.  O.  W.  C,"  The     By  Prof.  James  DeMille 
Brought  to  the  Front,  or  the  Young  Defenders      By  Elijah 
Kellogg 

Burying  the  Hatchet,  or  the  Young  Brave  of  the  Delawares 

By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Cast  Away  in  the  Cold     By  Dr.  Isaac  I.  Hayes 
Charlie  Bell  the  Waif  of  Elm  Island    By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Child  of  the  Island  Olen     By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Crossing  the  Quicksands    By  Samuel  VV.  Cozzens 
Cruise  of  the  Casco    By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Fire  in  the  Woods     By  Prof.  James  DeMille 
Fisher  Boys  of  Pleasant  Cove     By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Forest    Qlen,    or    the    Mohawk's    Friendship      By  Elijah 

Kellogg 
Good  Old  Times     By  Elijah  Kellogg 


LEE  AND   SHEPARD   Publishers   BOSTON 


11 


AMERICAN  BOYS'   SERIES  —  Continued 


20. 
21. 

22, 
23- 

24. 

25- 
26. 

27. 

28. 

29. 
30- 

31- 

32. 

33- 

34. 

35. 

36. 

37. 

38. 

39. 
40. 

41. 

42. 


Hardscrabble  of  Elm  Island    By  Elijah  Kellogg 

Haste  or  Waste,  or  the  Young  Pilot  of  Lake  Champlain 

By  Oliver  Optic 
Hope  and  Have     By  Oliver  Optic 
In  School  and  Out,  or  the  Conquest  of  Richard  Grant    By 

Oliver  Optic 
John  Godsoe's  Legacy    By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Just  His  Luck     By  Oliver  Optic 
Lion  Ben  of  Elm  Island    By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Little  by  Little,  or  the  Cruise  of  the  Flyaway    By  Oliver 

Optic 
Live  Oak  Boys,  or  the  Adventures  of  Richard  Constable 

Afloat  and  Ashore    By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Lost  in  the  Fog     By  Prof.  James  DeMille 
Mission    of    Black    Rifle,    or    On    the    Trail      By    Elijah 

Kellogg 
Now  or  Never,  or  the  Adventures  of  Bobby  Bright    By 

Oliver  Optic 
Poor  and  Proud,  or  the   Fortunes  of   Kate  Redburn    By 

Oliver  Optic 
Rich  and  Humble,  or  the  Hission  of   Bertha  Grant     By 

Oliver  Optic 
Sophomores  of  Radcliffe,or  James  Trafton  and  His  Boston 

Friends     By  Elijah  Kellogg 

Sowed  by  the  Wind,  or  the  Poor  Boy's  Fortune    By  Elijah 

Kellf)gg 
5park  of  Genius,  or  the  College  Life  of  James  Trafton    By 

Elijah  Kellogg 
Stout  Heart,  or  the  Student  from  Over  the  Sea    By  Elijah 

Kellogg 
Strong  Arm  and  a  Hother's  Blessing    By  Elijah  Kellogg 
Treasure  of  the  Sea     By  Prof.  James  DeMille 

Try  Again,  or  the  Trials  and  Triumphs  of  Harry  West    By 

Oliver  Optic 
Turning  of  the  Tide,  or  Radcliffe  Rich  and  his  Patients    By 

Elijah  Kellogg 
Unseen  Hand,  or  James  Renfew  and  His  Boy  Helpers     By 

Elijah  Kellogg 


LEE  AND    SHEPARD   Publishers  BOSTON 


AMERICAN  BOYS*   SERIES  —  Continued 

43.  Watch  and  Walt,  or  the  Young  Fugitives    l?y  Oliver  Optic 

44.  Whispering  Pine,  or  the  Graduates  of  Radciiffe    By  Elijah 

Kellogg 

45.  Winning   His  Spurs,  or   Henry  Horton's   First  Trial     By 

l""liiah  Kellogg 

46.  Wolf    Run,    or    the    Boys    of    the    Wilderness      l^y  Elijah 

Kellogg 

47.  Work  and  Win,  or  Noddy  Newman  on  a  Cruise    By  Oliver 

Optic 

48.  Young  Deliverers  of  Pleasant  Cove    By  Elijah  Kellogg 

49.  Young  Shipbuilders  of  Elm  Island    By  Elijah  Kellogg 

50.  Young  Trail  Hunters    By  Samuel  \V.  Co/.zens 

51.  Field  and  Forest,  or  the  Fortunes  of  a  Farmer     By  Oliver 

Optic 

52.  Outward  Bound,  or  Young  America  Afloat    By  Oliver  Optic 

53.  The  Soldier  Boy,  or  Tom  Somers  in  the  Army     By  Oliver 

Optic 

54.  The  Starry  Flag,  or  the  Young  Fisherman  of  Cape  Ann    By 

Oliver  Optic 

55.  Through  by  Daylight,  or  the  Young  Engineer  of  the  Lake 

Shore  Railroad    By  Oliver  Optic 

56.  Cruises  with  Captain  Bob  around  the  Kitchen  Fire    I^y  B.  P. 

Shillal)er  (Mrs.  Partington) 

57.  The  Double-Runner  Club,  or  the  Lively  Boys  of  Rivertown 

By  B.  P.  Shillaber  (Mrs.  Partington) 

58.  Ike  Partington  and  His  Friends,  or  the  Humors  of  a  Human 

Boy     By  B.  P.  Shillal)er  (Mrs.  Partington) 

59.  Locke  Amsden  the  Schoolmaster    By  Judge  I),  P.  Thompson 

60.  The  Rangers     By  Judge  D.  P.  Thompson 

61.  The  Green  Mountain  Boys    By  Judge  D.  P.  Thompson 

62.  A  Missing  Million,  or  the  Adventures  of  Louis  Belgrave 

By  Oliver  Optic 

63.  A  Millionaire  at  Sixteen,  or  the  Cruise  of  the  ''Guardian 

Mother  "     By  Oliver  Optic 

64.  A  Young  Knight  Errant,  or  Cruising  in  the  West  Indies 

By  Oliver  Optic 

65.  Strange  Sights  Abroad,  or  Adventures  in  European  Waters 

By  Oliver  Optic 


LEE  AND   SHEPARD   Publishers  BOSTON 


-' 


AMERICAN  BOYS'   SERIES  —  Continued 


NEW  TITLES  ADDED  IN    1902 

66.  Facing  the  Enemy    The  Life  of  Gen.  Wm.  Tecumseh  Sher 

man     hy  v.  C.  Ileadlcy 

67.  Fight   It  Out  on  This  Line    The  Life  and  Deeds  of  Gen 

U.  S.  Grant     By  P.  C.  Ileadlcy 

68.  Fighting  Phil    The  Life  of  Gen.  Philip  Henry  Sheridan    Bv 

P.  C.  Ileadlcy  ^ 

69.  Old  Salamander    The  Life  of  Admiral  David  G.  Farraeut 

By  P.  C.  Ileadlcy 

70.  Old  Stars    The  Life  of  Gen.  Ormsby  M.  Hitchell    By  P.  C.  I 

Ileadlcy  J 

71.  The  niner  Boy  and  His  Honitor    The  Career  of  John  Erics- 

son, Engineer    By  P.  C.  Ileadlcy 

72.  The  Young  Silver  Seekers    By  Samuel  W.  Cozzens 
73-     Drake  the  Sea  King  of  Devon    By  George  Makepeace  Towle 

74.  nagellan,  or  the  First  Voyage  around  the  World    By  George 

Makepeace  Towle 

75.  Harco  Polo,  His  Travels  and  Adventures     By  George  Make- 

peace Towle 

76.  Pizarro,  His  Adventures  and  Conquests     hy  George  Make- 

peace Towle 

77-    Raleigh,  His  Voyages  and  Adventures    By  George  Makepeace 
Towle 

78.  Vasco  da  Gama,  His  Voyages  and  Adventures    By  George 

Makepeace    Towle 

79.  The  Heroes  and  Martyrs  of  invention     By  George  Makepeace 

Towle 

80.  Live  Boys,  or  Charlie  and  Nasho  in  Texas    By  Arthur  More- 

camp  . 

81.  Live  Boys  in  the  Black  Hills,  or  the  Young  Texas  Gold  I 

Hunters     By  Arthur  Morecamp  ' 

82.  Down  the  West  Branch,  or  Camps  and  Tramps  around 

Katahdin     By  Capt.  C.  A.  J.  Farrar 

83.  Eastward  Ho  !  or  Adventures  at  Rangeley  Lakes    By  Capt. 

C.  A.  J.  Farrar 

84.  Up  the  North  Branch,  A  Summer's  Outing    By  Capt.  C.  A, 

J.  Farrar 

85.  Wild  Woods  Life,  or  a  Trip  to  Parmachenee    By  Capt.  C.  A 

J.  Farrar 

LEE  AND   SHEPARD    Publishers   BOSTON 


T 


i! 


\ 


